#schools resembling prisons

[hyperlexichypatia]

[hyperlexichypatia]

Or, not that there's not a time and place for a good patricide, but maybe giving them less work. Maybe, just maybe, 8 hours of school plus 4 hours of homework/study time plus 2 hours of extracurriculars plus 2-6 hours of other responsibilities isn't sustainable.

Y'know, if a formerly well-behaved straight A student suddenly starts almost not passing their classes and crying all the time and getting into trouble, maybe the default conclusion from every authority figure should not be that they are lazy and simply need to pull themselves together. Maybe instead you should give them stimulants or HRT or let them kill their parents and see if one of those three things resolves the issue.

[fiercynn]

On 7th June 2022, Afro-Palestinians of the Old City of Jerusalem rejoiced; their brother Mohammad Firawi was finally coming home.  It had been five long years since Firawi – then a twelfth grader in the middle of school exams – was accused of throwing stones at Israeli police, taken away from his home and shuttled around nine Israeli prisons. Now aged 25, he was ready to be back in the African Quarter, and they were ready to welcome him.  The community’s joy was interrupted, however, when two days later, Israeli intelligence re-arrested and expelled Firawi from Jerusalem for a week. Their reason? That he “defied Israeli orders to refrain from celebrating [his release].” Re-arrest is common practice after prisoners’ release, for reasons as impossible to justify as they are to fight. When one’s existence is made a crime, even moments of joy are closely monitored and policed.   “[The] Israeli occupation wants to prohibit any expression of happiness in the community,” Firawi tells Skin Deep, “even adopting the policy of prohibiting any symbols resembling Palestinian identity, including the Palestinian flag. They fight anything they believe negates their alleged sovereignty in Jerusalem.”

[fanfictilltheend]

❤️‍🔥Violent Heart Part 1: ♪All I've ever learned from love was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you ♫ (or the VERY DARK Stepdad!Mechanic!Covict!Joel x Afab!you one)❤️‍🔥

A/n: It's here!!!!!! 18+ Only. This took me 7 freaking months so you mofos better like, reblog, and comment. This is both my most and least personal fic I've ever written and it is dark and relies heavily on plot (no smut until part 2 but i swear it's worth the backstory!!!!) READ ALL OF THE TAGS DO NOT COME FOR ME UNLESS YOU DID THIS FR FR. This ones for my dark joel fangirlies(guys and NBies) and the daddy issues fam ily ❤️‍🔥 (also not me naming my fic in part after hallelujah by leonard cohen but there is a reason!!!!!!!!!!)

Summary: The story starts with Part 1 where afab!Y/N is a child and Joel is her new stepdad and this story explores their relationship. Themes of abusive family, domestic violence, child abuse, daddy issues, physical violence, murder, stepcest (kinda b/c he is divorced from her mom technically but she grew up with him as her stepdad), infidelity, age gap, and more are explored throughout the fic. PLEASE READ SPECIFIC TAGS (part 2 tags will be added with the release of part 2). Part 2 picks up with Y/N at age 20 and how her relationship with Joel has changed and gets steamier. NOTHING SEXUAL OCCURS BETWEEN Y/N and JOEL until Y/N is 20!!!!!!! Also check out this playlist of music that's in the fic!!!!

Tags (PLEASE READ): Afab!you, stepdad!joel, mechanic!joel, convict!joel, no apocalypse au, Mentions of sex (little detail), mentions of male masturbation, infidelity, domestic abuse/violence, sibling abuse/violence (no one ever talks about sibling abuse but it’s very real), physical child abuse, neglect, allusions to past domestic violence, cursing, brief mention of pedophilia and kidnapping (David), allusions to committing future pedophilia (David), threats, cancer mention, Sarah death discussion, Tommy death mention, murder, prison, mentions of god and religion, fights, general violence, alcohol consumption, using music lyrics to move the plot, daddy issues, use of y/n

Word Count: ~15k

PART 2 (coming soon)

Ao3 Link

Violent Heart Masterlist

Full Masterlist of all my work

Joel Miller is not a good man, that he knows like the backs of his calloused hands. 

He knows loss too, feels it burrowed in the hollow cavity of his chest. Sees it in the face of every little girl he meets. 

The memories sting. 

He knows pain, deep in the depths of his character, down to the fundamentals of what makes him something that resembles a human being. The belts, the bigger hands, the harsh words, and then the grief. The recent Bring back my babygirl! The ancient ¡Basta, Papí, por favor, no Tommy, no Mamá! ¡Por favor no esta noche! The indignity of begging, always reduced to begging to a cruel man, an indifferent doctor, a cruel universe. 

He knows hard work, how to work with his hands. He knows the grit and grease of labor. Sees the cogs turning in the engines he fixes, relates to them. Feels like he knows them intimately because he is one too, chugging along day after endless day. But no one dares fix Joel Miller.

Until…

Her name is Erica and she’d like her front bumper replaced, please. She has long eyelashes and a soothing voice. And she has money too, at least more than he, who is almost broke from the cost of Sarah’s medical bills. She comes with baggage, Joel can tell from looking into her eyes, but then again so does he. And he hasn’t been laid in god knows how long. 

She takes him on a date and he lets her. She reveals she has two kids, but Joel doesn’t care. They fuck at her place while the kids are at school and she wants it soft, like her hands, and that’s how Joel gives it to her. 

A week later, Joel has moved in, which is good because his rent was due and he couldn’t pay it. He still hasn’t met the children.

***

It’s Joel’s day off and he’s sitting on the couch in his new home. His back hurts, but that’s nothing new. He’s got an excellent view of their nice, big backyard with a wooden fence. The kind of home he would have liked to have given Sarah. He sighs. Technically, nothing is wrong.

Then he sees it. It takes him a second to realize what is going on. It’s a whirlwind. He sees the back gate open and two tumbling forms fall over the threshold onto the manicured grass. One form is bigger, a boy of about twelve or thirteen beating the shit out of a much smaller form, fists flying. The other form is a little girl, no more than eight, defending herself like her life depends on it. Perhaps it does with the way he’s going at her. 

This must be the son, Aiden, and the daughter, Y/N. 

He’s a good boy, really, but he has anger issues sometimes. He’s been through a lot. That’s what Erica said, but Joel does not see a good boy. He sees a bully. A disproportionately violent one at that. Nothing that tiny girl could have possibly done could warrant the brutality he sees before him. 

Anger is something else Joel knows intimately, and that is what he greets when he runs outside to end the fray.

“Stop that!” he roars, pulling Aiden off of Y/N.

“Who the fuck are you!?” the boy screams, fury and hatred radiating off of his entire being. 

He continues thrashing and punching at nothing as Joel restrains him.

“I’m gonna kill her!” he screams, his eyes bulging.

“What the hell happened?” Joel growls, still holding onto the livid boy–verging on young man. 

“She ripped up my paper!” he bellows. “For no fucking reason! I worked hard on it!”

“It was a lie,” she says with so much conviction Joel almost flinches.

He looks down at the little girl, her nose bleeding, her right eye turning purple. She has tears streaked down her face, but she is not crying. Her shirt is ripped. The first thing he thinks of when he sees her is Sarah. Of course it’s Sarah, how could he not think of her? But this little girl is different, has a different look in her eye. This look is much harder and feels like she’s lived a thousand lifetimes. He thanks god Sarah never looked that way, but somehow he wants to hear about everything this little girl has experienced. Something twangs in Joel’s chest that he has not felt in what feels like an eternity. 

“It was not a lie, you stupid bitch whore!” Aiden shouts angrily, still fighting back against Joel’s unrelenting grip. “Take that back!”  

“No, you take it back! Dad is not a hero. You could’ve picked anyone to write about and you choose him? After everything he’s done?” she screams herself.

The sound of her voice is powerful but desperate. Joel feels himself needing to know more and bury himself deep inside her experiences.

“SHUT UP!” Aiden yells, finally ceasing his movements. 

A tear falls from his cheek. 

“If I let you go, will you stop whooping your sister?” Joel snaps firmly.

“Get away from me, you stupid cuck!” Aiden curses, turning his energy to Joel. “Who the hell are you to me? Fuck you! I’m out of here!”

He wriggles out of Joel’s grasp and Joel lets him go and Aiden storms back out the rear gate, slamming it behind him.

“You alright?” he asks Y/N.

Joel crawls over on his knees, still upright, closer to her. 

“Had worse,” she shrugs, running a hand through her messed-up hair. 

She wipes the tears and blood from her cheeks.

Joel shudders to imagine what she means.

“He always like that?”

“Yeah,” she nods. “So you Mom’s new boyfriend?”

“Something like that,” he nods back. ”’M Joel. Joel Miller.”

“I’m Y/N,” she says a bit mournfully. “Here,” she continues suddenly, reaching out a small hand to his cheek. She wipes blood (hers) gently off his stubbly face. “Didn’t mean to get ya dirty.”

Joel is nothing short of touched. He wasn’t even aware he could still have such a feeling. His cheeks go rosy pink. His heart pulses. He stares at her delicate hands and notices a long, thin scar on her left middle finger. 

“‘S no trouble, sweetheart,” he hears himself reassuring her. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Could even mend your shirt if ya want. Know how to sew and all.”

He reaches out a large hand, but she flinches at the sudden movement. A dull ache wells up in Joel’s chest. 

“Not gonna hurt you, honey. Swear it.” 

He wants with every fiber of his being for her to believe him, for it to be true. 

She takes his hand.

***

That evening Erica is still not home, working late Joel supposes. It is nine o’clock when Aiden slinks back into the house.

Joel stops him from making his way up the stairs. He is more than familiar with the art of creeping.

“Think you oughta apologize to your sister,” he says as gently as possible. Maybe he can impart some manners onto this unruly child now that he’s calmed down some. “You beat her real bad. You’re much bigger than her.”

“I’d do it again,” Aiden hisses, his eyes cold. “It makes me feel better.”

And then, to Joel, the answer is simple. What do you do with a bully who won’t repent? Fight him back. Show him who’s boss, who’s bigger.

He grabs Aiden by the arm in a flash of anger and drags him up the stairs. The boy screams and flails, but that doesn’t deter Joel. He brings him to the room he assumes is his, the walls covered in sports posters and memorabilia.

“Take off your shirt,” he growls, a familiar fury pounding inside his chest.

When Aiden protests, Joel does it for him, ripping the kid’s shirt nearly in half. Rage floods through Joel’s veins and he can’t exactly place why, but the feeling is very real and bouldering through him at an alarming speed. He knows this feeling, feels strangely at home there.

He undoes his belt and brings the leather end down on Aiden’s back, not the buckle like his father used to do. Joel does have some decency buried deep in his chest. And then he loses himself to the unyielding anger.

“You get ten,” he snarls. “Don’t you lay a hand on your sister again. Is that understood? Now you answer to me.”

No response except for a scream.

“I said , do you understand?” Joel roars, bringing down the belt.

Rage consumes him like a drug. He barely registers what he’s doing. The belt goes down again and again. And somehow, through the screaming and the pain, and the intoxicating feeling of being completely in control for once, Joel’s line of vision wanders to the bedroom door. In all the excitement, it was left ajar and out in the hallway, sitting on her knees is Y/N. Joel immediately expects fear, despair, revulsion. When Tommy would watch him take a beating his face would betray the most acute sense of hopelessness and terror and the waterworks would begin. But Y/N just stares at him unflinchingly, at what he’s doing. She doesn’t cry, she simply sees. Too much for a child, and yet, she watches. She does not intervene, doesn’t even try to. And for the tiniest moment, her and Joel’s eyes connect, and he feels a sense of calm, of comprehension, of recognition in that uncannily knowing gaze. Her irises sparkle and Joel feels…something that he cannot entirely articulate. Seen? Accepted? Understood? Joel knows logically what he is doing is an ugly, vile thing — he has never claimed to be a good man. Practical maybe, but never good. And yet, Y/N sees it — sees him — and she doesn’t look away. She cocks her head slightly, and images of Tommy grimacing in revulsion and fear as Joel mercilessly beat up their childhood neighborhood bullies to the point of unconsciousness pop into his mind, of the haunting look in his brother’s eyes. Even Sarah could not stomach his violent heart when she witnessed him beat up some pervert with a camera that had looked at her funny at the mall. Even though it was for her — to keep her safe. She had stared at him in disgust and pity. She had not seen him then at all.

But now, looking at Y/N, for the briefest moment, Joel can swear he sees something resembling a smile flicker over her serious face. And though it goes as quickly as it comes, he feels the familiar sensation gnawing at the bottom of his stomach: primal and untameable, soft and vulnerable, but fierce and loud at the same time. He feels an inexorable, inescapable sense of care and devotion to this child. But most of all, because she sees him, truly sees him, and does not turn away in disgust, Joel Miller feels the gut-wrenching, unquenchable sensation of love deep in his chest. For the first time since Sarah died on that hospital bed, weak and unwell from the chemo he could not afford, he feels alive . 

***

Things fall into a tentative routine. Every morning, Joel wakes up in bed beside Erica. They fuck the night before more often than not, but always in that same slow way that doesn’t do much for Joel. It’s enough to get off, sure, she isn’t an unattractive woman, but he’s mostly there for the meal ticket and roof over his head. He goes to work at the auto-body repair shop, Erica goes to her job at her law firm. The kids ride the bus to school. He gets home in the evenings before Erica and spends time coexisting with the children. Usually, he kicks back on the sofa, rubbing his sore back, and watches television, minding his own business. Aiden mostly avoids him, doing god knows what in his room. He bullies his sister cruelly and Joel punishes him when he sees fit. Erica knows what he does to Aiden and either doesn’t care or approves. He never lays a hand on Y/N though. She warms up to him slowly, cautiously. Most evenings she sits on the far end of the couch and Joel on the other, but as she gets used to him and sees that he’s not a threat, at least to her, she scoots closer. 

The children’s father is no longer in their lives from what Joel can tell, which is perfectly fine with him. When Joel’s heart does not feel full of lead, he plays the guitar. Y/N sits and watches him. She is a quiet child, but unrelentingly brave. When Joel lets the TV blare, he rarely cares to pay much attention these days, she stays and watches with him, no matter what is on and never complains or asks to change the channel. Blockbuster zombie apocalypse movie? She watches. News special on America’s most dangerous serial killers? She watches. Documentary on venomous snakes? She watches. Should Joel be letting her watch this crap? Who the fuck knows? He isn’t her father. And plus, he won’t admit this to anyone, hardly even himself, but he likes having some company. It makes everything feel…less. And he likes that she doesn’t try to make him speak. Sometimes there are no words and he thinks Y/N understands this. Unlike Erica who yaps every second of the day. But Joel stays polite and plays along. He has to.

But he will not lie, Aiden gets on his very last nerve. There is something that Joel cannot quite place that makes him feel like he has known this boy his whole life even though they are as familiar as perfect strangers. All siblings fight and rough-house. That is normal. Hell, he and Tommy used to fight rough and tumble all the time. But the way Aiden bullies Y/N is something else entirely. And most times, it is unprovoked. And he is so much bigger than she is, growing bigger by the day. 

Joel’s beatings have not stopped Aiden’s anger and sadistic attitudes, but they do make sure that he takes some kind of physical consequence for his crimes. It makes Joel feel better and he thinks it makes Y/N feel better too. And some days he gets so fucking mad at Aiden that he thinks not even god could stop his wrath even if the boy turned into Mother Theresa herself! Okay, maybe that’s extreme, but another part of Joel thinks maybe it’s not. The truth is, though he is loathe to admit it, some days, he is not in control of his anger. Some days he punches so hard, his knuckles bleed and he has to stop for a second to come back to himself. Others he goes so roughly on Aiden that he causes the kid to become bloody and he feels ashamed of what he’s done. But there are other days, very dark days, where he wishes he could do it over and over again. He convinces himself he’s doing it for Y/N and not some other sinister ulterior motive he does not care to dwell on…

One night, a few months into Joel’s new living arrangements, he walks through the upstairs hallway to his and Erica’s bedroom, passing the closed door to the bathroom that the kids share. He has done this what feels like a thousand times before and doesn’t think anything of it until he stops and realizes he hears Y/N singing. 

♪“ Someday, my pain / Someday, my pain will mark / You…”♫ she sings softly.

He can barely hear it over the crash of the water from her shower, but her voice is beautiful. It pulls at Joel’s shrunken heart, deep inside his long-dead chest. Her voice has an eerie quality to it too, almost haunting. He’s not sure of what song it is, but he finds himself wanting to know. Eventually, she stops, and Joel goes to bed, but her voice echoes in his mind for hours as he lies awake in the dark.

The next day, Joel is sitting on the couch when the kids get home from school. Y/N joins him on the other side of the sofa as usual. They watch reruns of some unfunny family sitcom.

“Heard you singing last night,” he finally grunts unceremoniously.

Y/N goes very still.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, avoiding his gaze. “I’ll be quieter next time.”

Joel looks over at her. He realizes she looks terrified.

“Ain’t no problem with it,” he tries to explain, confused. “Thought you sounded nice is all.”

“You tryna trick me?” she stammers, tears collecting in her shimmering eyes.

“What? Trick you? What you crying for, honey? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Joel is genuinely flabbergasted. 

Tears trickle down her cheeks. What has he done this time? he wonders. But he is concerned more than anything. Hell, he hasn’t seen her cry like this since the day they met. Not even last week when Aiden slammed her head into the metal oven in the kitchen (luckily it was off or Joel would have really killed him that time).  

She sniffles, looking conflicted, then collects herself as best she can manage.

“M-my dad didn’t like when I would sing. ‘Specially if he was in a depo…I forget the word…deponition? Deposition? When he was on the phone for work, I mean. If I was being too loud. Or too shrill. He didn’t like that one bit. He’d get mad…” she trails off. 

“The way Aiden gets mad?” Joel asks very slowly, not truly wanting to know the answer.

“Yeah,” she nods after a while. “Except he’s a lot bigger. And stronger. He…he broke my arm once. But it was on accident I think. He got me ice cream after.”

Anger, red and hot, pulses through Joel’s veins. What hadn’t this child endured at the hands of angry men? 

“What did your mother do?” he bites out, almost unnaturally calm from trying to control himself.

“Well, most of the time he’d kinda like hit her around, I guess? But the time he broke my arm was the time she made him leave for good and they got a divorce and all. Aiden says it’s my fault he won’t come around anymore. He was so mad. He loves Dad so much. I don’t understand it though because even though Dad likes him a lot more than me, Dad would still be so mean to him sometimes. Mom says I don’t even know all of it...Promise I won’t bother you with singing though, okay?”

“Sweetheart,” Joel says as softly as his blinding rage will permit. Somehow, when he’s with Y/N, he finds he can control himself better. “I’ll never get mad at you for singing. Or being too loud. Or anything. Never gonna put my hands on you. I’m sorry if what I do to Aiden scares you or made you think that I would ever do such a thing to you.”

“It doesn’t scare me,” she shakes her head. “When you get rough with Aiden, you do it because he did really bad, to protect me. It’s like with you there’s rules that make sense. Aiden chooses to be mean and violent so you choose it back to him. With my dad, it was different. It was like I could breathe wrong and I’d get in trouble. Get in trouble for things I couldn’t control or help. Sometimes I did bad, I know I did, but I also know there were other times where I wasn’t hurting anyone and he’d still hurt me so badly. My dad never got mad at Aiden for hurting me though. He thought it was funny, I think. Sometimes he’d kinda like sick him on me. Kinda how you could a dog.”

Joel doesn’t know how to respond, doesn’t know the right words. He figures he can only show her with his actions who he is and she will just have to learn to trust him. If her father ever enters the house though, he will wring his neck. That’s for certain. Thank God he doesn’t come around for his sake, Joel’s, and the family’s.

“I was just thinking,” Joel finally says. “If ya want, I could learn how to play that song you were singing on my guitar and maybe you could sing it for me sometime?”

“M-maybe we could sing it together?” Y/N asks tentatively, her eyes wide. “Singing in front of other people is kinda scary.”

“I haven’t sung in a while,” Joel sighs. “Might be rusty.” 

“That’s okay,” she grins hopefully. 

Joel wants to take a photo of that rare sight and keep it close for as long as he lives, torn in his pocket or snug in his wallet, he doesn’t care. 

“Joel?” she asks a little cautiously, breaking him from his thoughts. “Can I ask you something?”

“‘Course, kiddo,” he says as gently as he knows how.

“Who’s Sarah?”

His heart stops. His blood runs cold. 

“What? How did you–”

“You were talking. In your sleep yesterday,” she says, shrinking away a little and Joel feels sorry for scaring her again. “When we were watching Dexter . Well, you fell asleep right before. You were snoring and all, but you were also talking and mumbling that name. You sounded sad and scared.”

Joel should definitely not have allowed her to watch that! But that is hardly the point right now. 

His heart squeezes so tight it burns. What was there to say about Sarah – the entire reason his life had had any purpose? His perfect babygirl? The light of his life? 

He could lie. So easily too and Y/N would never know. He could say nothing at all. Hasn’t even told Erica about her yet. Hardly ever speaks to anyone about her these days.

And yet…

“She was my daughter,” he hears himself say softly. “She…got sick. Died of leukemia a while back. She was twelve.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the wallet he was just thinking about. Inside is a tiny school photo of Sarah – the last one she ever took. It’s faded a little, but she’s still smiling so big she could block out the sun. He shows it to Y/N.

“I’m sorry, Joel,” she says and she really does look sorry. 

Not the way his co-workers and customers say it – almost as a reflex – to fill the void in the conversation. Her eyes are shimmering.  

“Nothin’ to do about it now,” he shrugs, running his thumb over the photo paper, softened with age. “But she was so damn special. My whole world.”

He has learned to repress the tears, not to show weakness, that is not hard. Not anymore. But the anger that broils up inside him – the injustice of it all – how he was unable to help her. Unable to save her. He feels almost like a child again, powerless in an unforgiving, unrelenting world. He wants to fight back!

He is so angry he begins to shake and his hands clench into fists. 

He wants to flip over the fucking coffee table – fling it across the room! He wants to punch in the glass of the flickering TV screen until his fist is broken! He wants to–He wants–

He just wants his babygirl back…

A sob, small and foreign rises in his throat, but he pushes it down. 

He thinks Y/N knows though. Can see the vulnerability in his eyes.

She reaches out a small hand and touches his fist, pushes it down gently into the soft fabric of the couch so he’ll stop shaking. It doesn’t entirely work, but he thinks he appreciates the effort.

“I don’t know if this is the right thing to say,” she begins a bit skittishly, still not entirely trusting the hulking, raging man above her. “But I think I would have liked to have been her friend.”

And for the first time since Sarah died, Joel sobs . 

Y/N pops up from the couch and Joel’s heart cries out louder in his chest for her to come back, don’t leave me too as he tries to suck the tears back in. It doesn’t work though and liquid gushes down his cheeks. He doesn’t think he can take the rejection, the loss of her. But thankfully, she returns just as quickly as she went with a handful of tissues stuffed into her small fist. 

“Here, Joel,” she offers. “Here. Don’t cry.”

Joel does cry though. He’s ashamed he’s broken down in front of this literal child, and he doesn’t let out much noise, but he doesn’t take the tissues either. He can’t. 

She’s so sweet though, or maybe it’s because she is truly afraid of him now, of his wrath, he’ll never really know, but she frowns and reaches out a little hand, the one with the scar on the middle finger, and tries to wipe up the tears.

The paper of the tissue tickles his cheeks.

“Shouldn’t havta…” he tries.

“Didn’t mean to make you…” she answers.

A pause.

“You didn’t, honey. That was all me,” he assures her finally.

She lets out a sigh of relief and soaks up the last of the salt water from his face, brushes the tissue gently against his nose. It tickles, causes him to snort. He smirks a little.

She smiles back shyly, she can’t help it, he can tell. 

“You know,” he says thoughtfully after a few moments of silence, sighing deeply. “I reckon she would’ve wanted to be your friend too…”

***

A few months roll by. Things are virtually the same except Y/N seems more comfortable around him now. Maybe it’s because she saw his weakness up close and personal, his Achilles heel —— knows how to coax it out of him now if she has to. Or maybe it’s because she truly trusts him. Whatever the case, she sits closer to him on the couch now, still giving him a respectful foot of distance though of course. 

Once in a blue moon, she sings for him and he tries to keep up with the lilting sound of her high voice. She says she likes his low, deep voice just fine, it’s just she still gets nervous singing in front of other people so it’s still a rare occasion. His favorite is when she sings solo and he gets to strum along for her and really listen. Sometimes her voice cracks in a very specific way that some might find to be a flaw, but Joel would never. 

Aiden makes fun of them and calls them the ‘Von Trapp Family Singers.’ Are they a family? Joel wonders.

One day after work, Joel goes to the library to find some sheet music for a song Y/N likes. She treasures the photo-copied paper like a gift as Joel deciphers the notes he can actually read for her. She color-codes each one carefully in magic marker so she can remember the differences between them. 

The next day, Aiden burns it up with a lighter he has acquired from God knows where. Joel confiscates it – the last thing he needs is this particular child setting fires – and It doesn’t end well for Aiden. He limps for damn near a week. But some days, when Aiden is calm, he joins Y/N and Joel in front of the TV if a sports game is on. He doesn’t sit on the couch though, just the floor. He doesn’t say much to them but does get invested in the good and bad plays of each game, gets sore if his team is losing. On one particularly good day, when the Rangers hit a grand slam, and Joel was actually paying attention, he and Aiden actually high-five.  

Things are going…well? Is that the right word? It is a foreign concept for Joel. For Christmas, he gets Y/N guitar, Aiden a book on boxing so maybe he will redirect his anger into somewhere productive, and Erica a spa-day kit for 20% off that he saw at CVS (he never claimed to know what women want). Aiden is neutral, surprised, he thinks, that Joel even got him a present. Erica is actually appreciative and returns the favor with some new socks and underwear. 

“A practical gift for a practical man,” she says, kissing him on the forehead. 

Joel supposes he appreciates the gesture. 

Y/N, though, is thrilled.

“Thank you, Joel! Got you something too,” she says excitedly, bouncing up and down in her red and white pajamas.

“That’s not necessary,” Joel chides, leaning over to pick up the wrapping paper that was strewn across the living room floor. 

But secretly he is curious. He didn’t think she even had any money of her own…

Aiden opens the cover of the boxing book with disinterest, eyeing the new guitar distastefully. 

Y/N jumps up, leaves the room, and returns with a small plastic baggie in her hands. Inside are little, different bits of colored plastic clumsily and haphazardly cut into tiny, sharp-looking, badge-shaped pieces. One he recognizes is from the top of a yogurt container he put into the recycling the other day, another one from the top of a Gatorade bottle. 

“Here ya go!” 

She shoves the plastic bag into his large hands enthusiastically.

“Thank you,” Joel responds, still unsure what he was given.

It reminds him of when Sarah was young and would come home with some sort of abstract macaroni painting from kindergarten and he would nod and smile knowingly when she explained that of course it was Two dinosaurs getting married, Dad. Duh!

“You could try one on my new guitar,” she offers, a little disappointed when he doesn’t have more of a reaction. “You said you lost most of yours…”

Joel immediately feels guilty and then it clicks. She tried to make him guitar picks! His heart clenches with emotion he can not quite identify. 

He pulls a little orange one out of the bag and accidentally nicks the edge of his finger. Because of the way it was cut, no doubt with uncoordinated child’s hands and a pair of scissors, the edges are much too sharp to serve as an actual guitar pick without damaging guitar strings or apparently Joel’s finger. Dumb kid. But he’s beyond honored anyone would take the time to do such a thoughtful thing for him. 

He hisses softly and sucks the blood off his finger.

“Oops,” she says, horrified. “Shoot. Sorry, I–”

“‘S no trouble,” he interjects dismissively. “Love ‘em. Was my fault anyway. I’mma be honest with you though, sweetheart; don’t think the guitar strings can handle these babies.”

“Oh,” she says softly, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice. “Oh, yeah, okay...”

She deflates, looking down at the carpet.

Joel selfishly lets her be sad for a beat before swooping back in to be the one to save the day.

“But here’s what I’ll do…”

She looks back up at him with an intoxicating kind of hope in her eyes.

He takes his wallet out of his back pocket and slips the orange pick into the photo slot next to the picture of Sarah. He returns the wallet back into his pants. 

Y/N positively beams. Brighter than the sun, even, Joel thinks.

Aiden yawns purposefully loudly and rolls his eyes. Erica looks touched and maybe even a little proud of her choice in men. But Joel didn’t do it for them. The only reaction in the world he cares about is hers.

Y/N is still grinning, bouncing on the balls of her feet again. But then she does something new: she leans in and hugs him, wrapping her little arms around his waist, burying her face in his flannel shirt, pressing against his tummy.

The world stops for Joel. 

At first, he just hangs there limply, awkwardly. Literally forgets what one is supposed to do in such a situation, but then instinct kicks in and he wraps his arms around her too and squeezes ever so slightly. It’s a more cautious hug than Sarah would have given him – she would have squeezed him half to death – but Y/N is still holding him. Someone small and warm is holding onto him for the first time in what feels like an eternity. And just like that his past is rhyming with his present and it is the most beautiful sound Joel Miller has ever heard. 

Joel Miller is not a good man, no, but maybe, just maybe, he thinks he could be one for Y/N. 

***

Joel tries to be good. He does. His first order of business is stop beating on Aiden – especially in front of Y/N. No amount of violence towards the kid seems to do any good anyway – he still hurts her. And Joel is sick of bandaging her up and wiping the blood from her cheeks; something has to change. Not that he wouldn’t do it a thousand times if he had to. He’d do anything for the girl, that he is sure of. And the truth is, Aiden is close to getting big enough to really fight back. And Joel knows if Aiden really lays a hand on him, he’s not sure he will be able to control himself enough to not inflict permanent damage. And he doesn’t want that. Truly.

So at first, Joel thinks about having Erica send him away to a wilderness camp for troubled children or some such program he sees mentioned on reruns of Dr. Phil. She has the money to do it too. But she won’t send him away. She refuses, loves him too much. Protecting Y/N seems as far down on her list of priorities as ever. She is useless at disciplining him, always has been, so it is up to Joel to find another solution. So the next thing he tries is to set the boy up in boxing classes. This is risky since it might just teach him new ways to hurt Y/N, but at least it will be a place to direct his anger.

It works for a while, to his and Y/N’s immense relief, but that leaves Joel nowhere to take out his anger. He tries to ignore it at first and shove it down, but it starts to come out in little ways. At work, he barks at a customer who locks his keys in the car he’s trying to fix. At home, he shouts at Erica for missing Y/N’s school play. The rage leaks out of him, pours off his entire being. He tries jerking off more to increasingly violent porno magazines to calm himself down since Erica is sure not satisfying him. It doesn’t do enough though, not really. Finally, he tries boxing at the local gym himself, but it is not enough either. Boxing has rules. The first sorry sucker he gets in the ring with, he beats to the point of unconsciousness. Two men have to pull him off to get him to stop. They kick him out immediately.

So Joel tries going to the bar after work with the guys from the shop and drinking a little to take the edge off. That actually helps somewhat. He’s careful about it, never comes home drunk, never drinks in front of Erica or the kids. But what helps the most are the bar fights. He’s careful about that too. Only fights the assholes, which there are many of. Switches up the bars he goes to. But some motherfucker slaps a girl's ass without permission? Joel’s on him in seconds, watching like a predator from the shadows. Some dude throws a drink in the bartender’s face? Joel clobbers him half to death. And sometimes? People in the bar applaud him, even cheer him on. It’s probably because they’re intoxicated, but that’s how he justifies it to himself like he’s some kind of goddamn vigilante. Deep down he knows he is something much, much uglier. But at least he’s not doing it to Aiden, a child. And more importantly, at least it is away from Y/N.

***

One day, Y/N falls sick. It starts out as what seems like a cold with a nasty cough. Kids are little germ factories, Joel knows that. He tells himself it is nothing to worry about – that all kids get sick sometimes. The first few days she lies on the couch like a zombie, coughing incessantly into her elbow and sleeping a lot. She snores ever so slightly which he finds charming. Joel stays home from work with her because Erica has to be in court and they watch lots of nature documentaries and daytime talk shows. 

Then the coughing gets worse and Joel’s brain stops functioning properly and he has trouble explaining why. He feels more on edge, more agitated. Erica takes Y/N to the doctor and comes back with a diagnosis: walking pneumonia. Nothing too serious, lots of kids get it. She is prescribed antibiotics and is supposed to drink lots of fluids and wait it out. But when Erica tells Joel the news of what the doctor told her he is holding a glass of water and it shatters in his large hand, cutting the skin of his middle finger.

“Fuck!” he yells. 

And he cannot articulate precisely why, but he feels good that there is a justified reason to yell. 

Erica wipes his hand and cleans the glass up.

“Gotta go to court again today, honey,” she says like everything is fine and normal. “Can you look after her today? Call in sick? She’s in bed. Going through it.”

Joel nods and she is gone like this whole thing is nothing. Like her precious, living breathing child is not suffering in the room above his head.

He climbs the stairs and enters Y/N’s room. He doesn’t often spend much time there. The walls are painted pink and differently shaped dolls and stuffed animals line the white vanity across from her canopied bed. He does not think he has ever seen Y/N play with any of those specific toys, come to think of it, or express any interest in the color pink (no doubt Erica’s secret passion for interior design rearing its ugly head). He vows silently, one day, to paint the walls any color she wants. 

But there she is, sprawled out in her bed coughing a nasty cough. Something shifts inside Joel at the sound. She looks unwell and weak and so small. 

“Hey, honey,” he says softly, almost robotically. 

Something is not right. He sits on the edge of her bed, feels her burning forehead. He takes her temperature gently with the thermometer that goes in her ear. He feels that weird sensation like he’s been here before even though he has hardly ever entered her bedroom. One hundred and four degrees Fahrenheit it reads when it beeps. Joel swallows a lump in his throat that he didn’t realize was there.  

She coughs pathetically. She looks out of it, her eyes far away. Joel’s heart throbs painfully.

Y/N is mumbling something incoherent now. Joel leans a little closer so he can decipher the words.

He makes out something like: No, Dad. Don’t. Stop, please. Please, not tonight. 

Joel stops breathing. 

She must be delirious from the fever. 

And then she’s crying. Quietly, but crying all the less. And this time, unlike every time he has seen her tears before, she sobs. Actually makes noise, her chest wracked with it. 

Then she coughs so hard she starts to wheeze and it hits Joel so ferociously he practically loses his grip on reality.

When Sarah was sick she had leukemia, a blood cancer. And cancer requires treatment. Expensive treatment. But of course, Joel hadn’t cared. He would have sold every item he owned to save his child, would have traveled to the ends of the earth if he had to, done literally any and everything in his power to protect her. So he paid for most of her chemotherapy with high hopes. Desperate hopes, but high ones. It had been her best shot at getting better according to the doctors. And the thing about chemo is, the side effects can literally be deadly. Joel is not a man of science, but the doctor explained that those drugs kill the bad cells that make up the cancer, but also the good ones. It fucks with your immune system, weakens you. Makes you lose your hair, vomit, and or be so weak you can barely walk. All that happened to Sarah. Joel felt like a traitor taking her to those treatments. Logically, he knew they were necessary, but he always felt like he was the one doing those awful things to her. It eviscerated him, left him raw and empty, and helpless like a child.

But in the end, it was the pneumonia that killed her. Her body couldn’t fight it off. She’d died in a hospital bed, Joel at her side, holding her hand, unable to do a single damned thing except scream .

Y/N coughs again, simultaneously pulling him from his thoughts and throwing him back into them. His heart is pounding in his chest to Do something! But there is nothing to be done, nothing he can do! Why can’t he ever seem to protect her?

She looks up just then, notices him for the first time since he entered the room, still crying feebly.

“He hurt me,” she whispers up at him, her eyes glazed over and glistening with tears. She reaches out for a handful of his dark blue work shirt and pulls it tightly to her. “He hurt me. And I couldn’t–I c-couldn’t…”

And then he is holding her, not quite sure how, but he is holding her trembling body to his chest and he will not let her go. Not for the world, not for anyone. He will not lose this child. He wraps his arms around her, holds tight. He will keep her safe, no matter the cost. 

“It’s okay, babygirl,” he whispers. “I got you.”

***

Joel and Erica get married that spring. They agree on a private ceremony in front of a judge with only Y/N and Aiden in attendance. When Aiden hears the news, he throws a fit, He breaks dishes and punches a hole in the TV set which sets Joel’s teeth on edge. But Y/N is overjoyed. In the end, he and Joel adorn what Joel considers monkey suits and Erica wears a beautiful white dress that accentuates her figure. Y/N wears a frilly pink dress and carries a basket of pink roses. Joel never thought he’d be a married man and yet here he is. He imagines Sarah in attendance too and his heart aches. This is his life now. 

He refuses to wear a ring.

***

Time passes. Long stretches of time where things feel–dare he think it–normal.

 Aiden doesn’t beat Y/N, but begins to get into fights at school. Joel saves his violence for the bar scene which he begins frequenting more often. 

Erica starts working later, gets promoted in her job. Fucks Joel less and less, not that he cares very much. 

Joel goes to back-to-school nights and family cookouts. He teaches Y/N to play the guitar and how to fix car motors. In both these activities, she is no natural, but she tries her best and listens well. She smiles more than he’s ever seen. He drives her to sleepovers and Aiden to boxing practice. He paints her bedroom walls orange.

Things feel stable.

Two Christmases pass.

And then things take a downturn.

***

One evening, Joel returns home from work later than usual. When he arrives home in his truck, he notices an expensive sports car in the driveway. Erica has affluent friends, sure, but he’s never seen this particular car before. Something about that doesn’t sit right with him.

He opens the front door with a creak and Erica intercepts him before he can make it to the dining room table for dinner. She presses a hand to his forearm bulking with muscle.

“Don’t freak out,” she whispers urgently. 

Joel stops and hears the sounds of people eating dinner and a man’s raspy voice speaking.

“Freak out about what?”

He makes his way past her to the dining room. He sees a man he does not immediately recognize sitting at the head of the table, Y/N is flanking one side of the table next to him and Aiden the other. He is conventionally handsome and wearing an expensive pinstripe suit. When he looks up, he smirks at Joel. Joel thinks he looks kind of like Aiden if you were to squint. And then he understands who he is.

“The fuck are you doing in my house?” he growls, lunging forward.

“ Your house?” the man smirks again, unflinching. 

He looks Joel over, examining his mechanic’s uniform, the grease stain on Joel’s cheek. 

Erica grabs Joel. She pulls him back out into the hallway.

“Tell him he’s not welcome here,” Joel snarls, trying to get a look at the man over Erica’s shoulder. 

She pushes him backward gently. Instantly, he is worried for Y/N, for all intents and purposes alone in there with the man who abused her and this entire goddamn family for that matter. He catches a glance at her and she looks terrified . Aiden, conversely, Joel sees, looks like he just won the lottery, staring up at his dad in adoration. Joel doesn’t think he has ever seen him look so happy.

“This is important to them,” Erica snaps quietly. “That’s their father. He has a right–”

“Get him out of here or I’ll kill him,” Joel says deadly quietly. “He what? Doesn’t show up for over three years and you think that–”

“I know that he has a right to speak to them. I am their mother and they need a sense of closure. Aiden needs this. So you will sit down at that table and have an amicable dinner or so help me God, Joel.”

Erica never speaks to him like this. He is shocked.

“Fine,” he snarls after a while, his chest heaving. 

He can hardly think straight while Y/N is in there alone with that excuse for a man. Better he be close to protect her instead of thrown out of the house.

He walks back in with Erica, who sits next to Y/N, leaving Joel nowhere to go but next to Aiden.

“I’m Derek,” the children’s father says, leaning over the food Erica has prepared to shake Joel’s hand. 

Joel doesn’t take it.

“And you must be Joe? The new husband.”

“Joel,” he replies shortly.

He looks over at Y/N who is trying to be brave, he can tell, but deep in her eyes, looks petrified.

They eat dinner in tense silence until Derek breaks it and begins bragging about his golf club record, the latest client he’s been representing, his new girlfriend, Sylvia.

“See, she’s helping me become a better man,” Derek insists with a forkful of steak. “I know I haven’t always been…the greatest of fathers or partners, but she really convinced me coming here would be a good thing. That it would be healing. You guys will meet someday, I’m sure.”

Joel leans forward toward Derek, reeling at the idea that this man could possibly be back in the picture of his family’s life, but Erica reaches under the table and squeezes his knee in a death grip and Joel holds himself back.

Aiden hangs on his father’s every word. Erica looks somewhat intrigued after she lets go of her husband’s leg. Y/N screams silently at Joel, who tries his best to communicate without words that he will keep her safe.

“And I know I’ve missed quite a bit,” Derek continues. “Which is why I brought these. Sylvia’s idea, really.”

He reaches down toward his feet and pulls out a fancy golden gift bag and takes out two presents. He hands one to Aiden and the other one to Y/N. Aiden rips his open excitedly. Inside is a hunting knife with a red handle. 

Great, Joel thinks.

Y/N doesn’t move though, stopped like a deer in the headlights.

“Open it, girl,” Derek sneers.

She looks over at Joel. 

“Go on, baby,” he says softly, heat pumping through his blood.

She unwraps the pink wrapping paper and finds a Barbie doll in a clear plastic box. Joel has never seen her play with dolls at all come to think of it. 

“Isn’t that thoughtful?” Erica smiles cautiously.

“Thanks, Dad,” Aiden says enthusiastically. “Can’t wait to show the guys at ROTC.”

“Good for you, son,” Derek grins. “Serving our country is the highest of honors.”

Joel suddenly tries not to think about Tommy blasted to bits halfway across the world in Afghanistan, his body in such bad condition all that he got left of his baby brother was a finger and two bent dog tags.  

Aiden beams.

“Well,” Derek barks, eyeing Y/N distastefully. “Aren’t you going to say anything?” he taunts. 

Joel sees where Aiden gets it from. This arrogant, bullying behavior. He shifts in his seat, ready to strike if necessary.

“Thanks,” she says very quietly. 

Derek grins in a kind of satisfaction that makes Joel want to go over there and punch his daylights out. He almost does too until Erica kicks his shin beneath the table and he controls himself. 

Y/N frowns. She looks over at Joel, then back at her father. Something ripples across her face, but it goes so quickly Joel cannot assign any meaning to it. But she looks ever so less scared somehow, more angry almost, but not quite.

And then after about ten minutes of somewhat peaceful eating and Derek making Aiden and Erica laugh with stupid anecdotes from his court cases while Joel and Y/N exchange looks, it happens.

Y/N’s hand reaches forward and knocks against her glass of coke. It goes flying over in Derek’s direction and drenches him in the sticky liquid, staining his suit.

“Sorry, Dad!” she squeaks immediately. “Oh my god, I–”

“You little slut!” he roars in response, almost like a reflex, backhanding Y/N across the face with lightning speed and accuracy. “Do you know how much this fucking suit cost!?”

The force of the blow is so strong it knocks Y/N from her chair onto the ground.

Before a coherent thought can even go through Joel’s head he is on the other man, slamming him up against the wall behind him by the throat.

“Joel, don’t you dare!” Erica yells, but it is too late.

Joel sees red and can’t exactly recall what he does next, but it goes something like this:

He squeezes around Derek’s throat and bangs his head backward against the wall a few times. The other man tries to get a punch in, but Joel ducks and kicks him in the balls. Derek crumples to the ground and Joel gives his chest another hard kick. He whines pathetically. 

Aiden gets up then, but Erica uses all of her strength to pull him back before he can get involved in the mix. He resists, shouts something that Joel cannot make out, but Erica manages to keep him from the two men with a great amount of effort and struggle. 

Derek is on the floor now and Joel is straddling him, landing punch after ruthless punch down onto his head. His nose begins to bleed, but Joel keeps punching. 

“HOW DARE YOU?” he roars down at the trembling, gushing man on the floor.

There is so much blood splurting all over his face, dripping down onto his expensive stained suit, and the floor that Derek almost stops looking like Derek. Joel sees Aiden’s face in his features. And then there is so much blood that it could be anyone’s face screaming back at him for mercy. It could be those creepy, asshole men at the bar. It could be the much bigger kid who always used to beat up Tommy every day in the schoolyard. It could be that damned head doctor who let his babygirl die. It could even be his no-good, bastard, alcoholic papá . 

He turns his head ever so slightly while still delivering punches. Erica has Aiden in a bear hug. She is screaming for Joel to stop. Aiden is bellowing something that sounds like, You bastard, I’ll kill you! Get off of him! I’ll kill you! And then Joel sees Y/N still on the floor from where she was knocked. Her face is still turned in the same direction it was slapped into, but she is not crying or screaming. Her eyes are dancing.

They connect with Joel’s. 

He knows he is supposed to be a good man for her, but she doesn’t seem to mind his deviant behavior. He stops then, though, because otherwise he thinks he will kill the man and he doesn’t want Y/N to experience that. He steals a glance at her again and she looks ever so slightly disappointed, but her wide-eyed expression tells Joel that Christmas has come early this year. She sends him a look of gratitude and Joel thinks that maybe he did act like a good man for her after all in the case of this vile, pathetic person who is supposed to be her father. 

 Finally, Joel stands up. He walks over and reaches out a bloody hand to Y/N and pulls her gently from the ground. Even after she’s standing upright she doesn’t let go of him.

Derek gets up after a while, wiping his sleeve over his face to try to tame the excess blood. Joel thinks that maybe he broke the man’s nose. He feels not a shred of remorse. The other man spits on the ground at Joel’s feet and leaves without saying goodbye to his ex-wife or children, slamming the front door behind him.  

Erica is not pleased with Joel’s behavior. Aiden is shouting and screaming. He breaks a plate by throwing it onto the floor with a loud crash. Joel leans over and grabs the knife his father gave him and sticks it in his front pocket so Aiden doesn’t feel tempted to use it. Y/N’s small hand is still in his. 

When Aiden is coherent enough to listen to instructions and all screamed out, Erica sends the children upstairs to bed. 

Joel tries to walk Y/N up to bed to tuck her in, but Erica stops him.

“ Not you,” she growls at Joel. 

She is livid in a way Joel has never seen before. For a moment, he seriously wonders if this is the end of their relationship. 

The kids scamper upstairs and Erica yells at Joel for ages. 

At a certain point, he stops listening. He doesn’t try to argue back. Doesn’t care to. He is actually calm now, though his chest is still heaving from the exertion, more calm than he’s been in ages. He knows that she will never understand why he had to do what he did to Derek. She lives in another reality where his violence is not acceptable if she has to bear witness to it. She doesn’t care about Y/N the way she is supposed to. Never has. Doesn’t know or see her. Not the way Joel does. Has too big a soft spot for Aiden. Tolerated Joel’s violence toward him though like a coward. Maybe deep down she knew he needed some kind of discipline? But when Joel lays a hand on her scumbag of an ex-husband that’s what’s too far? When he hurt her own daughter? When Joel himself was responsible for hurting her own precious son? Where was her outrage then? 

But he voices none of this. Pushes it down. He cannot lose her. Not this house, not the kids, not the financial security. Never Y/N. 

Erica banishes him to the couch for the first time in their relationship. Joel doesn’t mind. 

Hours later, late into the night, he hears soft footsteps walking down the stairs. He rolls over on the sofa to see who is approaching. He wonders if it is Erica there to apologize because he knows her well enough to know by now that she will forgive him eventually. She will forgive anything it seems. But it is not Erica at all.

“Joel?” a little voice asks quietly. “You up?”

“Yeah, baby,” he replies. “You okay? I’m so sorry he pulled that shit on you.”

Y/N shrugs. 

“Sorry I…I didn’t stop it before it happened,” he admits like a secret. 

She shrugs again.

“‘M sorry she made you sleep on the couch and all,” she replies.

“‘S no trouble. I don’t mind.”

“But it’s my fault you got in trouble in the first place.”

“Y/N, you ain’t done nothing wrong,” Joel tells her seriously. 

It’s hard to see her in the dark, but he thinks she’s grimacing guiltily. 

“I just wanted to say…” she begins hesitantly. “Thanks for like sticking up for me and all that. You…you’re the only one who does.”

Joel hides a smile from his babygirl. Something inside him likes being that person for her, he cannot lie to himself. Likes being the one she can count on. 

“You were like some MMA fighter,” she continues. “But then all the blood was like in The Shining .”

One day, not long ago, Joel had fallen asleep on the couch when The Shining came on and Y/N had watched the entire thing out of her own free will. That movie had frightened the shit out of him as a kid!

“I’m sorry if I scared you, sweetheart.”  

“You didn’t,” Y/N replies matter-of-factly.  “I wasn’t scared of what you did for a second…I know that’s messed up, but I kinda wanted you to…” 

She trails off.

Joel understands. 

“I kinda, please don’t get mad, but I sorta knocked the cup over on purpose,” she admits.

Joel’s eyebrows go way up on his forehead in surprise.

“It’s just,” she babbles quickly in self-defense. “Mom and Aiden were like giggling and hanging onto every dumb thing he said and it scared me. I thought they might let him keep coming around and start liking him again. And I also knew he hadn’t changed too. I could tell on account of how he was looking at me in that same mean way he always did. And I also knew you’d save me like you always do and you had this angry look in your eyes. I knew what you would do. I could feel it in my gut…”

“You little shit!” Joel smirks. 

He has to give her credit where credit was due – that was incredibly shrewd. Dangerous, but oh so clever. She played everyone in that room like a fiddle. Joel is honestly kind of proud.

“You mad?” she asks tentatively, biting her bottom lip.

“Nah,” Joel grins. “At you? Never. You shouldn’t have had to let him hurt you to get him away from you, but you protected yourself and that’s the most important thing. If I had to do it over, I would.”

Y/N smiles. 

She’s a fucked up little girl, but Joel is a fucked up man, and they both live in a fucked up world.

“Got your back,” he grunts. “Remember that. Now scurry along back to bed and get some rest.”

“G’night, Joel.”

*** 

Time passes. 

Erica forgives Joel of course and Derek never comes around again. 

Y/N and Aiden grow bigger. 

They go on camping trips and Joel teaches Y/N and Aiden how to fish. Never thought he would see the day where Aiden was willingly listening to his instructions, but the day comes anyway. Of course, the boy’s favorite part is cutting up the bloody fish guts like Joel’s used to be as a child. Y/N likes the part where you wait for the fish to bite. She sits next to Joel on the grassy river bank, the sun shining down on the lazy lake they are camping by, and smiles softly to herself.

Another two Christmases pass.

All the while, Joel is visiting the bar more and not necessarily to drink. His violent streak is getting worse somehow. He thinks, though he’s no goddamn shrink, that it might have something to do with the fact that he and Erica are not having any sex. Their relationship is still amicable and she is still sweet to him, and he tries his best to be to her too, but in the bedroom is mostly crickets. Joel jerks off, of course he does, but his fist is no substitute for a warm body. 

Joel causes such a scene at the bar he frequents the most, that the cops have to be called. He ditches the place before he can get arrested, but he’s getting worried about his behavior. Something must change.

So then come the women. They practically throw themselves at him. Never has he thought he was that attractive until women literally offer themselves up to him on a silver platter after saving them from some drunken creep. Joel had always declined until now. But Joel is only a man. He fucks them rough and dirty (with their permission of course – Joel is not a good man, and a lot of things, but he isn’t a fucking rapist) in the bathroom stalls, in the alleyways. In the moment it feels good and helps him let off some steam, but after he feels guilty. And it doesn’t satisfy him much more than with Erica if he really thinks about it. One thing that Erica has over these women who let him act out his violent self is the look of devotion in her eyes. That’s always the thing that gets Joel to cum in the end when he does get to fuck her.

 He would leave her, she isn’t that special to him if he’s honest, but she offers him a twofold sense of stability he has never known in his life. The first fold is the financial stability that has evaded him all of his days. The second is the feeling of family . Something so mundane and normal. And despite her flaws, she treats him so well – better than Sarah’s mother ever did. And most importantly, he doesn’t think he could leave Y/N. Not now. Not when she looks at him like he is the universe. Not even Aiden whom Joel has (begrudgingly) begun to see the traces of himself in. 

***

This particular muggy, summer day begins normally. Joel goes to work, fixes a Chevy Impala’s fluid tank. And then he walks in with an old, beat-up Honda Accord. 

His name is David, and Joel has heard of him through murmurings and bar stories and whispers at community barbeques. He’s a notorious neighborhood legend, whose house kids cross the street to avoid. He is the boogeyman at the end of the cul-de-sac. 

The story is, though through the many versions Joel has heard some of the details get muddled, that he kidnapped and raped a twelve-year-old girl (that part all versions agree on). Some say he was supposed to have ten years in prison, others say twenty, but whatever the number he got out in one for “good behavior.” In jail, he supposedly devoted his life to God and became a preacher.

Joel doesn’t want to help him, but his boss hisses at him that money is money and he’s going to serve the man whether Joel likes it or not. 

There’s something wrong with the exhaust pipe, so Joel bends down and takes a look at it. He opens the trunk and sees a box of Bibles next to a plastic bag of zip ties. His blood runs cold.

“The fuck is this shit doing in your car?” he growls, referring to the zip ties.

“The Bible is the word of God, Mr. Miller,” David replies, eyeing Joel’s nametag. “Would you like one? I’m always trying to spread The Good Word.” 

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about,” he spits, looking over to make sure his boss is not watching. 

“If you must know, though it’s none of your business, those zip ties are for my garden to help hold up my plants. They are remarkably useful,” David smiles sickeningly politely. 

And that’s when Joel loses it just a little.

He picks up the ties and pockets them.

“Listen here, you pedophile piece of shit,” he snarls. “If I hear about you stepping one goddamned pinky-toe out of line–”

“Hey, Joel!” A little voice calls.

The breath is knocked from Joel’s lungs.

Y/N bounds up to them holding a brown paper bag out of nowhere. 

“You forgot your lunch! Mom dropped me off so you could have it. It’s tuna though. I hate hate tuna. But you’ll eat anything so I hope it’s good for you at least,” she babbles.

“Baby,” Joel says very quietly, his heart thrumming in his ribcage. “Right now’s not a great time. Why don’t you go on home and I’ll catch up with you later?”

Then she notices David. By the fact that she doesn’t immediately leave, Joel determines she has no clue who he is.

“Hello, young lady,” David smiles, eyeing Joel knowingly. “I’m Pastor David.”

“Uh, hi,” she says.

Joel thinks he might actually kill him.

“Would you like something to take home with you?” he asks.

Y/N blinks in confusion as Joel steps in front of her.

“She’ll be going now, won’t you Y/N?” Joel suggests dangerously.

“Here,” David says before she can respond.

He hands her a black-covered bible.

Y/N takes it, looks at the cover, and laughs. Joel and David both look down at her in surprise.

“No offense, ‘Pastor David,”’ she smirks. “But I don’t believe in that shit. Here, you can have it back,” she offers.

He takes back the book somewhat defeatedly. And Joel grins internally.

“Bye, Joel,” she tells him, still smirking. 

She side-hugs him quickly and returns to Erica’s car. 

“How dare you even look at her–” Joel booms at the sad, pathetic excuse for a man once she is out of earshot. 

His hands are clenched into fists and they are shaking. Every part of him is on fire. 

“I think I’ll be going now,” David interjects lightly. “I can see my business isn’t welcome here. You have a beautiful daughter, Mr. Miller. Quite a mouth on her. Shame if something were to happen to her…Oh, the things someone like me could make her believe…”

Joel reaches back his fist to punch, to pummel, to kill, but suddenly, another hand grabs his and holds it in place. Joel’s boss has materialized behind him and is holding him back. Good thing too. It’s probably the only thing that saves Joel’s career and David’s life. 

David winks and drives away as the boss begins to reprimand Joel who is still shaking and fuming.

All he knows is this: If anyone touches his babygirl he will not hesitate to put them six feet under, no matter the cost to himself. He will not hesitate to get blood on his calloused hands. He will not hesitate to kill. And this time? His baby will not sustain a single scratch . He will not wait for her to get hurt before he acts. 

***

Joel wants nothing more than to go home and spend time with his babygirl and wife and even his step-son if he will allow, but there is blood popping and oozing and broiling and churning under his skin like billowing, bubbling lava. If he doesn’t do something about it soon he will explode worse than a volcanic eruption so he heads to the seediest bar he can think of. He makes his way inside and sits right up at the bar, already occupied by a few people. He orders a drink (his usual: whiskey on the rocks) and waits for the impending opportunity for violence he is sure is lying in wait.

He cannot believe the shit that came out of ‘Pastor-fucking-David’s’ sick, perverted mouth and that he almost lost his job over it. He lets that thought charge him up into a rage, his fists clenched so tightly they are beginning to ache in the joints. He cannot believe that disgusting little fucker had the audacity to say that horrible scummy bullshit in his presence when he would do anything to protect that innocent child. He takes a drink of his whiskey and knocks it back in one gulp. He would do anything , ‘Lord’ only knows. He snickers to himself sinisterly. 

And while he’s on the topic, fuck God! When had He ever done a single damn good thing for Joel his entire miserable life except maybe to give him Sarah and then take her away like she was nothing and not the entire light of the universe wrapped into a small, vulnerable person? Joel doesn’t know much about the bible, truth be told, but he remembers a few things from his Sunday school days. He remembers that people are created in the image of God and the stories he remembers most are from the Old Testament which heavily featured a God of absolute rage. Maybe that is the way he is god-like, built of anger and revenge and wrath and the sick, pathetic hunger for power that lurks inside most people. 

But he also remembers Jesus being meek and mild. Joel never understood that desire until he had Sarah and then Y/N in his care. If Joel could snap his fingers and make himself some fundamentally kind and caring man he would, but he can’t. Joel Miller is not a good man. He tried to be for Y/N, he truly did, but look at everything he’s done in the time he’s known her: he used Erica to get financial stability and roof over his head, he’s cheated on her numerous times, he beat Aiden, a child, and everyday the weight of that guilt grows greater as he begins to truly understand how wrong that was, and he beat his babygirl’s pathetic excuse for a father (but still her father) in front of her. He also beat people in bar fights and that time at the gym. And the thing is: is he even a little bit sorry about any of it – except for maybe what he did to Aiden? No, not even a little. And he’d do all of it again if it could mean getting to spend time with his babygirl, Y/N, again. His babygirl who FUCKING DAVID tried to threaten!

And the problem is: who knows what that fucker is capable of? The police and the judicial system let him out after one year which can only be described as a colossal moral failure and a massive miscarriage of justice. It wouldn’t take much for David to really figure out where they lived and grab Y/N and throw her in his trunk like he did that poor other little girl. Maybe that’s paranoid, but Joel knows better than most that when a man wants to do a dark thing he will find a way to do it. Joel does not want to live his life constantly looking over his shoulder as some horrendous pedophile lives freely. 

And then he turns his head to look down at the rest of the fairly busy bar and he sees him . None other than David himself, drinking a beer. Joel cannot believe his luck. It is like all of the light in heaven has aligned to give him such a gift. A part of him is screaming to not engage because Joel is sure he could kill him for what he said about Y/N. But the rest of him is already standing up and grabbing David by the shoulder and–

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get the fuck out of here now ,” he snarls. “Almost lost my job because of you, you sick fuck. You’re lucky I give you a warning and don’t wring your neck on the fucking spot.”  

David turns around, Joel’s fingers digging into his shoulder.

“Proverbs 24:1 and 2,” he quotes calmly. “‘Do not envy wicked men or desire their company; for their hearts devise violence, and their lips declare trouble.’”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means perhaps I will be leaving. I don’t care to spend my time with wicked men such as yourself. And I have many preparations to make for what is to come. How is your daughter doing since we last met?”

Joel’s heart runs cold. 

“Get my baby’s name out of your goddamned mouth .” 

“Hope we run into each other soon,” David grins as he gets off the barstool and dislodges himself from Joel’s grip. “There is a lot I could teach her.”

He turns to leave. Disgusting coward, Joel thinks. He could let the man go. But then what? Live in fear of him? Let his precious Y/N live in fear of him? Joel is tired of living in fear, of resigning to a cruel man in a cruel world, and he will never do that or let Y/N do that ever again. 

And then David leans in so close that Joel can smell the alcohol on his breath and the sweat on his skin.

“Can’t stop thinking about her pretty little hands around my–”

Joel doesn’t let him finish. In that moment he knows what will transpire. He picked this seedy-ass bar for a reason: so that no one will bother to stop him.

He lands the first punch with ease, doesn’t even feel the pain till minutes later. The force of the blow to David’s head is so strong he slams down into the ground. It is so violent that David’s eyelid starts to bleed and the skin around the impact spot becomes puffy and dark. 

David shouts for help, but no one in this place gives a fuck and even if they did everybody knows who he is and what he did so they don’t give a shit two times over. 

Joel continues the assault. Punch after punch reigns down on the other man as blood begins to coat his features. David tries to get a punch or two into Joel’s stomach, but Joel straddles each of his biceps and holds him down so he can continue hitting. The longer Joel hits, the better he feels. This time is different. This time he does not see the features of every man he’s ever hated in the face of his victim. This time he sees only David’s disgusting smirk in his mind’s eye. This time he only thinks about how he is saving Y/N from a lifetime of fear and cruelty. This time Joel will not let his adversary get a strike in first. This time he will be the one to stop the fate of impending devastation that lies in the palms of David’s shaking and broken hands. This time he can save her . 

When Joel is done with his hands, he is panting heavily. He moves on to his feet, kicking the man’s gut sadistically, his trembling hands, his face. Crunch , goes David’s skull. And then he is not moving or breathing.

Joel stops.

A lick of fear trails against the inside of his stomach, but the rage, always the rage warms his stomach like a rush of flames.

So he keeps going. He bends back down and squeezes the man’s throat just to make sure. It’s good he did too because David’s bloodshot, viens-having-burst eyes snap open and David makes a pathetic little squealing noise and Joel squeezes harder, rougher, with more conviction.

In the end, it takes longer than he thought it would. 

Joel only stops when he hears sirens blaring in the distance. He looks up for the first time since the assault started and sees all of the patrons staring at him in revulsion and fear. The bartender actually has the phone in her hand. Joel guesses she was the one to finally call the cops. He guesses he was so sadistic and violent that even this shitty place had seen enough. He thinks to run, briefly, but where would he run to? Everything he has ever wanted in life is now going to be closed off to him. But he saved Y/N and that makes everything worth it. It has to have been worth it.

Joel puts two scarred, calloused fingers to David’s pulse point, as blood (his and David’s) drips down from his knuckle onto the wooden floor and feels nothing.

When the cops handcuff him and take him away, he doesn’t resist. He comes quietly. He cannot ever really be a good man for Y/N, he understands that now, but at least now she and he may know some peace of mind after what he’s done.

***

The time leading up to the trial is a blur. 

Erica pays for an excellent lawyer, but divorces him on the spot. It seems there are some things even she will not forgive, and apparently murder is one of them. She allows the children to see him one last time in cold, sterile police interrogation room. A court-appointed child advocate social worker must be present. They allow him to have his handcuffs taken off for the first time since he was arrested. The kids are told he accidentally killed someone in a bar fight and for legal reasons he leans into the “accidental” part. 

Aiden comes in first. He knew who David was and tells Joel he did the right thing. Joel is surprised. He reaches out a limp hand, dirt caked under his fingernails, and shakes Joel’s for the first time since they’ve known each other and they part ways on good terms.

“You’re not my dad,” Aiden tells him quietly. “But you always put up a good fight to be there.”

And he leaves.

Joel is more touched than he wants to believe.

Y/N’s visit is much more difficult.

“How could you!?” she screams, standing by the door the second she sees him as he sits at the interrogation table, his chair turned toward her. 

At first Joel thinks she means how could he killl another human being. Y/N didn’t seem to know who David was after all. But that’s not what she is mad about.

“How could you leave me!?” she shouts, tears in her eyes. “You’re going to be taken away from me! Mom is leaving you because of this and that means you aren’t like my dad anymore. You’re going to forget all about me and never get to see me again because you killed some dumb man who tried to give me a bible?”

“He was not a good man,” is all Joel can say. 

He can’t be the one to tell her more, hasn’t told anyone how David had threatened her. Not even his lawyer. He doesn’t want to scare her, doesn’t want to admit to anyone he let those words even get to leave that shit stain’s mouth. 

“I don’t care!” she shouts again. “I want you!”

And then she bursts into tears and runs into his chest and Joel holds her against his orange jumpsuit and starts to feel tears trickling down his own cheeks.

“Never gonna forget about you,” he nearly scolds her into hair. “How could you ever think that, baby? You’re my babygirl. I’ll get out one day and come right back to you, understand?”

“But Mom–”

“You’ll be grown by the time I get out and won’t have to worry about what she says. But I’ll tell you this: you might feel different about me by the time your grown up and however you feel I want you to know I’ll respect that. But I ain’t gonna forget about you. Not ever.” 

“Your time is up,” the court-appointed social worker states. 

“No!” Y/N shouts, burying herself deeper into Joel’s embrace. “NO! I’m not leaving! I won’t leave you!”

Joel hugs her back tightly, crying into the top of her head as she sobs softly into his chest. 

In the end, the social worker has to pull her away as she screams.

“I love you, Y/N!” he calls to her as the social worker drags her from him. “Never gonna forget you, babygirl. Remember that.”

All Joel can hear back is a broken wail.

***

Erica attends the trial; the kids are forbidden. Joel’s defense claims it was a drunken accident and goes for manslaughter. Because he killed a known child molester he has no trouble while he waits in jail. He is even considered a hero by some. No one tries to fuck with him and that’s how Joel would prefer it since if he gets into too many fights it will just add to his sentence and he must get out and get back to his babygirl if she’ll still have him. His lawyer tells him not to mention the threats that David made toward Y/N because it will look like more of a reason that Joel would have had to intentionally kill him as opposed to accidentally like the manslaughter plea would have the court believe. Joel listens. He does exactly what he’s told because this lawyer is good and he needs to get out someday for christ sake.

In the end, he gets ten years and his lawyer tells him he could get eight for good behavior.

Eight years, if Joel can manage it.

They take him away to prison in handcuffs. Erica sobs. It is the last time he sees her.

***

Joel always wondered if his temper would land him in prison. Now that he’s here things go surpringly well. He gets a reputation for being the murderer of a child molestor and people respect him, listen to him when he bothers to speak. He keeps things in order and people start to refer to him as the “pod boss.” He also reads a lot in his cell, tries to help people with their cases and appeals if he can. And if someone steps out of line, Joel is more than happy to put them in their place so long as he can avoid attention from the guards, who he actually mostly gets along with to their faces, but behind their backs beats people to a pulp. No one ever dares to snitch on him and he is considered on the right track to get out for good behavior early. 

Time passes — painfully long stretches of time.

He has a lot of time to think, to read. He reads every book in the prison library over the time he is incarcerated. He reads parenting books, self-help books, books on trauma, books on abuse, books on anger management, books on meditation, books on spirituality (nothing sticks in that regard though, he is still furious like God, but less so these days). Somehow his anger has started to simmer down a notch.   

But he worries his babygirl will forget about him, or worse grow to hate him. He’s not sure he’ll survive that.    

Luckily, or he might have withered away and died, somehow Y/N convinces Erica to let her write him a letter once a month and have one call with him on Christmas. 

Christmases quickly become his favorite day of the year. 

Y/N writes him religiously. She talks about how angry she is at him, how she misses him, how she finally fixed the motor on Joel’s old pickup truck, how some boy gave her a love letter on Valentine’s Day, how she thinks of him every day.

Joel never tells her what David said about her, lets her believe he is just some violent, drunken idiot. He writes back how much he misses her, how he read a new book this week, how prison food is shit, how he’d probably greet that boy with a shotgun if he thinks he’s getting anywhere with his babygirl, how his whole heart beats for her.

She’s allowed to send him one photo a year, her most current school photo, and Joel hangs them on the wall of his cell so he can see her beaming at him at his highest and lowest moments along with the tiny picture of Sarah he managed to save from his wallet. 

Aiden even sends him a card each Father’s Day. It never has anything written in it except for whatever stupid pun or text the card came with, but Joel reads between the lines with that one. Each one seems to whisper to him louder and louder, I love you and I forgive you. Joel writes him back, “Thanks, kiddo. -Joel” He hope that conveys the thousands of sorrys he wants to scream from the rooftops and say straight to the boy’s face. He will someday when he gets out. He makes himself promise. He hears from Y/N when Aiden joins the marines. 

When Joel gets to actually hear Y/N’s voice on the old prison phone it’s like the most beautiful sound he has ever heard except for maybe Sarah’s voice. She babbles away about her life and what’s she’s up to and he hangs on every word like gospel. He barely gets a word in, but prefers it that way. Wishes he could hear her singing. Once, when she’s sixteen, and sounds so woefully grown up it hurts Joel’s entire heart, she hums a little absentmindedly and he can’t get the sweet sound out of his head. Her love for him never seems to waver and that is a blessing that Joel will never forget, the only thing he would thank this cruel God for. And of course, his love for her never wavers either. She is the only beacon of light for him in this dark and mundane existence. She is his everything.

***

When Y/N is eighteen and no longer under her mother’s control, she comes to visit him in person. This is the first time they have seen each other in six years. Despite their loving correspondence, Joel is nervous to see her for the first time since her childhood. He worries about how awkward it might be.

When he sees her walking into the dinky little family meeting room, his entire mode of existence changes.

She looks so beautiful, so grown-up. Sure she had always been a cute little kid, Joel always thought that, but now she is a woman. Tears come to Joel’s eyes. When her eyes connect with his, he feels so seen .

He tries to get a word out, but before he can she is running to him, into his arms and Joel has never felt something so perfect in his entire life. He knows he has never felt a love like this before. Not even with Sarah…something about this is different somehow? Joel is not too in touch with his feelings, but he’s trying to be more attentive to them these days with nothing left to do but read about such topics as “emotional regulation” and “mindfulness.” He’ll come back to this thought later though…

Y/N begins to babble into his ear, something about missing him and not wanting it to be awkward, but this is the furthest from awkward Joel has ever felt.

Joel has never been a man of many words so all he can think to say is,

“Missed you, babygirl.”

She grins at that, brighter than all the suns of all the planets in the universe (Joel has been reading about those too) and he laughs for the first time in what feels like a lifetime.

She laughs too, wipes tears from her eyes, and says,

“Missed you too, Joel. More than you know.”

Joel thinks that can’t possibly be true for that is all he has known for the last six years and possibly his entire life: missing her.

She comes once a month, drives an hour just to see him, and she tells him about college and later her very own shitty apartment. Her mother has thrown herself into her work and Aiden is serving his second tour. She makes good grades and has a stable boyfriend that treats her well, she swears. Joel couldn’t be happier for her, except the boyfriend business does make him want to crush that little fucker’s head in for some reason.

***

The last time Y/N comes to visit before his release (eight years to the day for good behavior) (she is 20 damn years old already!) something feels different to Joel. When he hugs her to greet her, he’s suddenly very aware of her body, the curves of it, her softness. Her hair smells so good, he doesn’t want to let go of her and then to his intense dismay and shock he feels himself getting a little excited down south. Immediately, he lets go of her, feeling like a pervert, praying she didn’t and doesn’t notice. He doesn’t see any obvious signs from her and the two sit down (Joel rather quickly) at the flimsy, nailed-down table and they talk of Joel’s impending release. All the while, Joel is trying to stay calm. He convinces himself it was just an accident and that he hadn’t been around any women in what felt like an eternity and that’s what  led him to get worked up. But when Y/N leaves to go home he feels a kind of dull longing in the bottom of his gut. A different kind of longing then what he had felt for a younger Y/N. Joel tells himself not to repress for the first goddamn time in his life and let himself feel. And he does. He feels butterflies and yearning and need, a great big need inside himself. And then he knows what else he feels: the gut-wrenching, unquenchable sensation of love and beneath that, primal, base, and self-loathing: desire . 

In his solo cell (that he has acquired because he is the pod boss and respected) he jerks off to those thoughts, touches himself to those feelings. When he cums unusually hard, he feels an overwhelming amount of shame. Of this, Joel knows, he will never ever tell another soul. Joel also knows he will not hurt his babygirl any more than he already has, intentionally or not, not ever. But then again, being a good, upstanding man has never really quite been in his arsenal, has it?

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PART 2

Violent Heart Masterlist

Full Masterlist of all my work

[heathermason6060]

Daryl Dixon x f!Reader: Together Apart Ch.3

Warnings/Mentions: Merle being Merle, History of abuse, neglect, strong language, mentions of character death, alcohol and drug abuse, ptsd, shared trauma, reader is cold, angst, fluff, eventual smut, slowburn, angst

Summary: You reminisce on the old days spent with Merle and Daryl.

Notes: This is mostly flashbacks to life growing up with Daryl and Merle, the good ole days :D Merle says some homophobic and probably racist stuff, cause he's Merle

“Dude, just go apologize, holy shit. You're worse than the teenage girls I went to school with.”

“Mind your own goddamn business. S’between me and Merle.” 

“He's got a point. You're acting shifty as hell. What happened to leaving? Huh? We've got Merle back, nothing's changed, these people still see us as redneck trash, can we just go already?”

“Said mind your business.”

Hindsight is a bitch.

You were five years old when you met Daryl and Merle for the first time. Unless your memory served you wrong, it was the fourth of July, and the trailer park was getting together to set off a bunch of illegal fireworks. You were sitting with your family as your neighbors got everything ready, a few of them grilling hotdogs and hamburgers. Your father had brought your mother a burger, which she split with you.

Your father was the only black sheep in your lives at that point in time. Anyone could tell just by looking at him that he didn't belong there, in a dingy trailer covered in blotches of mildew and rust. He was always clean shaven, no tattoos, perfect white teeth. He never smoked, never did drugs, never even drank. Even his name stood out among the Tammys, the Justins, Tuckers, Mandys, the Brandons and the Krystals. He was a Sebastian. He always wore clean clothes, and it was a stark contrast to your mother, who was the whole reason he was there in the first place. 

She was nothing like him. She had a beautiful face, sure, but that was about the only thing beautiful about her. Most of her teeth were yellow from cigarettes and drugs, some of them missing, and the molars in the back had eventually all turned black. She was never seen without a cigarette in her fingers, her nails a different bright color everyday. Her clothes always stank of cigarettes and BO, but despite all of that, she wasn’t all that much of a terrible human. Not until later on.

Your mother loved your father, and he loved her. She loved you too, even if she was mean most of the time, she never hit or screamed at you until he left. After that she took a dark turn, becoming a woman you grew to despise. She blamed you for him leaving, but  you knew the truth, she was the reason. She’d relapsed one too many times and he had enough, he left and he took you with him, but CPS ultimately dragged you kicking and screaming from your grandmother's house back to the prison that was your trailer.

That fourth of July was one of the last good memories you had with your parents. Your mother had been clean for seven months, and she looked stunning that night in her pink sundress and purple nail polish. She brought you a freeze pop and you ate it like it was a gourmet dessert, sitting beside her on the grass as you watched your neighbors set up the fireworks. 

When you finished eating you went to play with the group of kids, they would end up becoming your last resemblance of a friend group, a pair of girls your age and a handful of boys. One of the older boys made a rude comment about the DIxon brothers, and you decided to introduce yourself. 

Merle was about sixteen then, maybe seventeen, but he treated you and Daryl like you were the same age, something you deeply admired about him. You threw rocks at beer bottles behind their trailer, and you smoked your first cigarette there, hacking your lungs out, much to their amusement. Merle bragged and showed off his father's gun and crossbow collection, and soon after that their mother shooed you all out of the house like stray cats. 

You wished you could say the three of you became thick as thieves after that, but truthfully you didn't have many memories with them. To echo the point, you weren’t really friends. Just people with similar situations that lived near each other.

You took a deep drag of Daryl's cigarette and pulled away from him, holding it in your lungs. 

He didn’t say anything, and neither did you. You sat in silence, your legs hanging off the bridge you sat upon, sharing one of your last cigarettes. 

You turned a spent shell casing over in your fingers as Daryl flicked the butt into the river below. It was Merle's bullet casing, you knew that, the three of you had been on that bridge a few days prior when he let off a few shots into a small group of walkers. It was small, from the little .22 pistol that he’d borrowed from you. He’d never given it back, and it pained you to assume it was most likely still in his waistband, stuck to his rotting corpse until some other survivor came along and took it. 

“C’mon. Let's get back.” Daryl grunted as he hopped off the ledge and slung his crossbow over his shoulder. This was the only thing he said to you for the rest of the day, and for a while after that. 

Once you had said that your odds of survival were higher when there were more people around. World views change fast, apparently, because when the prison group took in the Woodbury citizens, you felt more at risk than when it had been a group of ten. 

Though you always despised the word ‘outcast’, it was the only word good enough to describe your place in the prison. 

It was easier when Merle had been there. It was only a few days but it was nice, you found yourself making an effort to hang out with him more, something he secretly appreciated. There wasn't anyone in his life anymore that enjoyed spending time with him, aside from Daryl. But some days it felt like not even his baby brother wanted to be around him. 

“You know how to fish?” You had asked him one evening as the two of you walked back from a supply run mostly empty handed. 

“Do you know who you're talkin' to sweetheart? Course I know how to fish.” 

You sat on the riverbank as he dumped his fourth trout into your bucket of water. You had caught one small catfish, and that seemed to do wonders for his pride, it gave him another thing to brag about doing better than anyone else in camp. 

“Little asskickers gonna have her first taste of good ole American fish tonight.” Merle laughed proudly, wiping his hands on his pants. 

“I don't think babies can eat fish. I don't think they can eat anything but formula.” You commented and stood from your spot, pulling in your makeshift fishing line. 

“A lil’ fish can't hurt.”

“No, seriously. I don't think she can have any.”

“Psh.” He muttered and picked up the bucket. “Useless fuckers. Can't eat, can't speak, can't walk, hell.”

Before the outbreak, you'd spent the most time with the eldest Dixon brother. Only to buy or trade drugs, occasionally getting high together, but it was still time spent in each other's presence. He very much enjoyed doing speed and teaching you things, normally how to shoot different types of guns, or just sitting in some random person's house listening to his rants about racism, homophobia, whatever he felt passionate about that day. 

“It just ain't natural, and I said, you couldn't pay me a cold million to touch one of you shitlickers. Yessir.” He was laughing then, amused in his retelling of some high school escapade that you weren't really paying attention to. Merle could be tasteless at times, and it was of no interest to you, you were enjoying your expensive high and there was no way in hell you were going to ruin it by getting into an argument with someone like him. 

You must've dozed off, because the long, drawn-out yell of your name had your heavy head lolling back up to see Merle a foot away from you. A grin split onto his face and he slapped your shoulder. “C'mon. Got a hot date, wouldn't look too good bringin’ your ass around. Get up. C'mon now!” 

Maybe you should've stuck around, cause he ended up getting a nasty case of gonorrhea from her. About a week later you found out from the man himself, standing in front of the coolers in your local gas station. They didn't sell gas anymore, too expensive, but they didn't lose any customers. 

“Should'a known a bitch that ugly would be crawlin’ with it.” He cursed, hiking up a six pack of beer on his shoulder as he followed you to checkout, his little shadow following behind.

“Told ya. Just didn't listen.” Daryl muttered, swiping a pack of cigarettes to slip into his back pocket. 

“Yeah, well, that's cause you don't know jack shit about women. The hell would I listen to you for?” 

“Even I could've told you that.” You spoke around the SlimJims between your lips as you handed the cashier a crumpled up ten dollar bill. She said nothing about you obviously being underaged and buying a cheap bottle of wine, everyone in town knew about your mother. “That's what you get for being a dick to that poor kid.”

“You talkin' about that-” The noisy chime of the bells above the front door covered his derogatory choice of words. 

“Those men, yeah. Don't know why it's so hard for you to leave people alone.”

“Cause it's America sweetheart, ain't no place for that kind of degeneracy here.” 

You bit back your quip concerning the women he surrounded himself with and looked to Daryl, who was too busy flipping through an obscene magazine to notice.

You weren't the model student after your father left. Most days were spent by yourself in the surrounding woods, fucking around until the buses prepared to leave. On the rare occasion that you had company, it was usually the senior you bought drugs from. He was weird, overly gentle with a very soft voice, something about him extremely off putting. 

Maybe things would've been different if you had been friends with Daryl back in school. He had only gone for a little while, using any and every excuse to get out of that house, even if it did include going from one prison to another. You weren't sure when he dropped out (technically he didn't drop out, he just stopped showing up), but it was right around the time Merle was out of prison. 

They left their father then, moving from couch to couch, and eventually ended up staying with another dealer you were vaguely familiar with. 

“Holy shit, look at you!” Merle whistled playfully after realizing it was you that had just come through the door. 

“The fuck? Merle?” You could barely recognize him. He looked so different from the last time you saw him, hardened by the months in prison. Daryl looked different too, he'd started growing some facial hair and looked a bit larger as well. It had been about a year or two since your last encounter, so it was to be expected. They stood up from the couch they sat on to greet you, Merle offering you a hit from his glass pipe, which you declined. 

“Nah, you know I never liked that shit.”

Merle snickered and held his lighter flame under the glass orb. “Right, right. Forgot you were too classy for crystal. Only the,” he tapped the side of his nostril, “for you.”

You caught up in the dealer's living room, some guy named Jesse, and enjoyed your purchases. You were happy then, for a few reasons. Jesse's shit was a lot better than what you were used to, so you found yourself a new reliable source, but also because you got to see Daryl again. You got to see him laughing, joking, no black eyes or busted lips. You got time with them as they were, before the world changed. 

You found yourself missing that time, watching as Daryl flung dirt over his shoulder into the grass behind him. It was the present, and you were sitting beside the hole he dug, too hungry to help. You'd forgotten to eat breakfast that morning and it was too early for lunch to be ready, whatever it was Carol or Beth had fixed up for the prison members. 

“What do you think Jesse's up to?” 

Daryl squinted against the sun to focus on you, momentarily pausing his digging. “Who?”

“That dealer you guys used to stay with. Beanie guy.” 

“Oh, yeah. Shit.” He grunted and stretched his back, happy for a break from grave digging. “Hell, I don't know. Probably dead.”

“You think? He seemed pretty tough to me.”

Daryl laughed abruptly at that. “Guy was a prick, but he wasn't no ‘tough guy’. Would go straight to usin’ guns instead of fightin’ like a real man.” 

You would never discover the fate of Jesse, but the decision to bring Daryl's mind back to wander in the past did wonders for bringing the two of you closer once again. 

To everyone's surprise, including you, Daryl dealt with his brother's death far better than you had. You'd expected he'd want to leave after that, go live alone and shut out everyone else. He didn't though, he cried a few times, sure, he got distant and chose to only keep you as company, but while you were still angry and grieving, he was laughing and forming bonds with the new group members. 

You weren't too sure why Merle's death had devastated you that much, the two of you weren't exactly best friends. Maybe it was due to the fact that he was one of the only two things keeping you connected to your past life, even though it was awful, it was better than the constant looming threat of being eaten by dead people. As shitty as your mundane life was, it would have gotten better, one day you would've been stronger than your mother and you would've stood up for yourself, put an end to the physical abuse, and if you were lucky you could've been able to leave and find your father and brother. 

Now Daryl truly was the only bit that remained, not counting material possessions. 

The same went for Daryl as well. The difference between you and him though was that the loss of his brother turned into a good thing. He was no longer a shadow of another human, no longer basing his ideals and opinions on said human. While you dealt with the pain by using Daryl as a crutch, he used it to find out who the unbiased Daryl was, abandoning the ‘Merle Dixon’s kid brother' persona. 

@ophelialaufey @carlgrimesgfofficial @theskinniestjackson-denny @dilfish-daydreams @my1fx

[hyperlexichypatia]

"People are so quick to judge teachers without knowing the full story. Teachers have teach kids with Need-To-Be-Thrown-in-Acid-Vat Behavioral Disorder alongside normal kids. Our poor teachers shouldn't have to deal with this."

"I know there's this new age movement against acid-vatting, that some parents think is 'cruel,' but that's a concern for rich, privileged parents who can afford their own acid vats at home. For some of these underserved children from broken homes, school is the only acid-vatting they get."

"That's so true, and many of these underserved broken struggling parents were insufficiently acid-vatted themselves. They don't know the importance of it in their communities."

"The real problem is that insurance won't pay for acid-vatting for kids who need it. Families are on the waiting list for months for an acid vat."

"My cousin's neighbor's sister-in-law is a teacher at a school where they banned acid-vatting, and the kids there are out of control. One of her kindergartners said to her, "Excuse me Mrs. Smith, I don't want a Christian teacher. I serve our Lord Satan." This is what happens when schools can't acid-vat kids!"

"As a therapist, I think teachers should understand that some kids have trauma related to acid-vatting. That's why you should decorate the acid vat with soothing colors and let them bring a special toy with them into the acid vat."

Original post: "It's so fucked up how children are thrown directly into a vat of acid for speaking out of turn"

1st reply: "Hi teacher here! This is a complicated issue that is very complex. Personally I institute a rule in my classroom where the child has to throw themselves into the vat instead of being placed there by staff. I find this method teaches them consequences and is far more effective at addressing problem behaviour such as being adhd or forgetting their pencils or coughing out of turn"

2nd reply: "Thank you. It makes me so happy that there are teachers out there who care. I wish I'd had a teacher like you back when I couldn't do math because of my head injury. Just thinking about having to submit myself to pain and degrading treatment while toiling beneath your gaze is making me tear up with joy. Bless teachers"

[otherkinnews]

Republicans introduce a 7th anti-furry bill and work to undermine student freedoms on a wider scale

(This blog post was written by Orion Scribner and N. Noel Sol, originally posted on February 18, 2024 to the Otherkin News Dreamwidth, at this link.)

Content warnings: Rated G. An urban legend that describes an unsanitary situation. Sexism against transgender people, including attempts to prevent them from participating in sports and using facilities like everyone else, and attempts to stop them from transitioning.

Summary: In 2023, Republicans began to propose laws (bills) in the US that would be against people who identify as animals. They base these on an urban legend that says schools provide litter boxes for students who identify as animals. Republicans made up that legend in parody of transgender students asking to use school restrooms (Scribner and Sol, 2024). The newest of these bills is Missouri House Bill 3678 (MO HB 2678). It’s the third such bill in 2024, bringing the historic total of these bills up to seven. This bill was written as part of a Republican effort to undermine public schools (which can’t ban transgender students from using the right restrooms, and students have First Amendment rights) in favor of religious charter schools (where students aren’t protected in those ways). The following blog post is a seven minute read.

What the Missouri bill says

Missouri House Bill 3678 (MO HB 2678) has the title “Prohibits students from engaging in ‘furry’ behavior while at school.” You can read this bill and see the latest actions on its official site, the Missouri House of Representatives, or on a third-party legislation tracking site, LegiScan. This bill was introduced this week, on February 13th, and read a second time on the 14th. It would add a law into the Revised Statutes of Missouri (RSMo). It would go in the part of the state laws about education, in Chapter 167, titled “Pupils and Special Services.” It would say:

“A student who purports to be an imaginary animal or animal species or who engages in anthropomorphic behavior consistent with the common designation of a ‘furry’ while at school shall not be allowed to participate in school curriculum or activities. The parent or guardian of a student in violation of this section shall remove the student from the school for the remainder of the school day.”

The same as the other bills like it, this bill is based on an urban legend, not on anything that was done in real life by students, furries, and/or people who identify as animals (McKinney, 2022a). This bill's wording looks like it was based on a bill from another state, Oklahoma House Bill 3084 (OK HB 3084), or its predecessor last year, Oklahoma Senate Bill 943 (OK SB 943). It shares their inaccuracies: though there are real people who identify as animals, surveys show that most furries don’t, and the dictionary definition of the word “anthropomorphic” means resembling a human, not resembling an animal (Scribner and Sol, 2024).

Who wrote the bill, and what is its context with that author’s other motivations?

The Missouri bill’s only sponsor (writer) is Cheri Toalson Reisch (she/her). She is a Missouri Republican who has supported anti-transgender bills in the past. One of those is MO SB 39, which would ban transgender students from participating in their gender’s sports division (both in private and public schools, up to and including in colleges and universities). Another one is MO SB 49. It would bar minors from accessing gender transition related surgeries or medications, removes adult coverage of hormone replacement therapy and any gender-affirming or transitioning surgeries from the Missouri Medicaid program, and denies prisoners and inmates access to any surgeries related to gender transitioning. She described both these bills as a “great move in the right direction,” and has been vocally critical that they were not harsher (Central MO Info, 2023).

Reisch is familiar with the urban legend started by conservatives of students using litter boxes in school bathrooms. She has posted about it on Facebook, telling her constituents that it is actively happening in Missouri and accusing the Columbia school district of taking part in it, stating “This is happening in Columbia Public Schools also. Yes, the janitor has to clean the litter box” (McKinney, 2022a). That's never happened. Schools say they have not been providing litter boxes to students in this way, and even deny that they have had any students identifying or behaving as animals, according to reliable fact checking resources (Reuters, 2022; Palma, Snopes, 2023).

Reisch has a history of being especially critical of the Columbia school district, which is one of the largest and most successful school districts in the state (McKinney, 2022b). She’s used this urban legend to attack the district’s legitimacy. This may be because Reisch prioritizes independently-run charter schools over standard public schools. Earlier this year, she sponsored MO HB 1941, which would allow for charter schools to operate within the Columbia school district without the district’s sponsorship.

Why are Republicans criticizing public schools and favoring charter schools?

In the US, the normal types of schools for children up to about age 18 are called public schools. Families don’t have to pay for their children to attend them. They represent the ideal that everyone growing up in the country should have equal access to school, regardless of income, class, race, religion, or ability. Because public schools are government establishments, the US Constitution protects the students’ rights there. The First Amendment of the Constitution protects the freedom of speech and religion of everyone, and that’s for students in public schools, too. In the landmark 1969 case Tinker v. Des Moines Independent Community School District, students sued because they had gotten suspended for wearing black armbands to protest the Vietnam War. The Supreme Court decided that it would be as tyrannical to prevent students from expressing political opinions within public schools as it would be in any other government establishments. The Court said students don’t “shed their constitutional rights to freedom of speech or expression at the schoolhouse gate.” In 1948, McCollum v. Board of Education had decided that public schools can’t give religious instruction during the school day. In 1962, Engel v. Vitale decided they can’t make students pray (Pew Research Center, 2019). Public school dress codes often aren’t as fair as they should be, but for the most part, their students can wear what they want and what their parents allow.

In contrast, what are known as charter schools in the US are privately owned, so they’re allowed to have requirements or education goals which would be considered a violation of the First Amendment. Some of them have religious affiliations and may be owned or operated by religious organizations. This can affect the way the school is run. For example, Oklahoma charter St. Isidore of Seville Catholic Virtual School has planned Catholic religious instruction classes, and the school’s active and intentional participation in what it refers to as “the evangelizing mission of the Church” (Fitzpatrick, 2023). Charter school dress codes can be much more strict. They are often segregated by gender stereotypes, forcing girls to wear skirts and boys trousers, no exceptions. This has been challenged in some places against specific schools, such as in North Carolina earlier this year in a lawsuit against the Charter Day School Inc (Chung, 2023). These challenges are the outlier and not the norm, however; gender-segregated dress codes are still a very common practice for charter schools overall. Charter schools also require applications and choose students based on random lottery systems. However, studies find that charter schools are more likely to ignore parents inquiring about the enrollment process if the student has a disability or other special needs (Darville, 2018). Unlike public schools, they don’t welcome everyone.

The freedom of expression in public schools is important for transgender students. In 2020, the case ​​G.G. v. Gloucester County School Board decided in favor of transgender-friendly restroom policies in high schools. This precedent helps protect transgender students’ rights in public schools, but doesn’t apply to charter schools. During the course of the case, the Conservative Legal Defense and Education Fund told the Court why to decide against transgender rights. In an effort to invalidate transgender people, the Fund compared transgender people to otherkin. The Fund used the word “otherkin,” and described them at length, mostly accurately but derisively (Brief Amicus Curiae, 2017, G.G. v. Gloucester Cty Sch Bd). This case was part of what inspired the Republicans to later make up the litter box urban legend. We don’t know if that particular brief inspired the legend too.

Republicans may be promoting charter schools because this would give them greater control over impressing their views about gender, religion, and politics on young generations. They may be undermining public schools because the separation of church and state limits their power to do so there. The urban legend and these bills are part of that.

Background about all of the furry bills and the urban legend that inspired them

To learn about this year’s first two anti-furry bills, read our post about them from last week (Scribner and Sol, 2024). That post also summarizes the four anti-furry bills last year, and the litter box urban legend. For further information about those aspects, you can watch our lecture about last year’s bills and what you do about bad bills (Chimeras, Scribner, and Shepard, 2023), and watch Chimeras’s lecture about the litter box urban legend (Chimeras, 2022).

What happens next with Reisch’s anti-furry bill?

The bill is at 25% progression toward becoming a law. The House heard the bill twice, but it hasn’t been voted on. At the time that we write this blog post, they haven’t scheduled the bill’s next hearing.

About the writers of this blog post

We are Orion Scribner (they/them) and N. Noel Sol (she/they), a couple of dragons. We never write articles with the assistance of procedural generation or so-called artificial intelligence (AI), and that type of content isn’t allowed on Otherkin News.

References

“Brief Amicus Curiae of Public Advocate of the United States, U.S. Justice Foundation, and Conservative Legal Defense and Education Fund in Support of Petitioner.” Gloucester County School Bd. v. G. G. ex rel. Grimm, No. 16-273, 2017 WL 192454 (Jan. 10, 2017). http://files.eqcf.org/cases/16-273-amicus-brief-public-advocate-et-al/

Central MO Info (May 19, 2023). “Representative Toalson Reisch Disappointed in Senate’s Version of Trans Bills.” Central MO Info. https://www.centralmoinfo.com/representative-toalson-reisch-disappointed-in-senates-version-of-trans-bills/

Chung, Andrew (June 26, 2024). “US Supreme Court turns away case on charter school's mandatory skirts for girls.” Reuters. https://www.reuters.com/legal/us-supreme-court-turns-away-case-charter-schools-mandatory-skirts-girls-2023-06-26

Darville, Sarah (Dec. 21, 2018). “Want a charter school application? If your child has a disability, your questions more likely to be ignored, study finds.” Chalkbeat. https://www.chalkbeat.org/2018/12/21/21106398/want-a-charter-school-application-if-your-child-has-a-disability-your-questions-more-likely-to-be-ig/

Engel v. Vitale, 370 U.S. 421 (1962). https://caselaw.findlaw.com/court/us-supreme-court/370/421.html

Fitzpatrick, Cara (Sept. 9, 2023). “The Charter-School Movement’s New Divide.” The Atlantic. https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2023/09/charter-schools-religion-public-secular/675293/

G.G. v. Gloucester County School Board. 972 F.3d 586 (4th Cir. 2020). https://casetext.com/case/grimm-v-gloucester-cnty-sch-bd-8

House of Chimeras (Aug. 12, 2022). "Litter Boxes in School Bathrooms: Dissecting the Alt-Right’s Current Moral Panic." OtherCon. https://youtu.be/WVjXOmN2IlU

House of Chimeras, Orion Scribner, and Page Shepard (2023). “Litter Box Hoax 2: Legislature Boogaloo.” OtherCon 2023. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lsXy_ctC4Jc&t=1425s

Legiscan. MO HB 2678. https://legiscan.com/MO/bill/HB2678/2024

Legiscan. MO HB 1941. https://legiscan.com/MO/bill/HB1941/2024

Mccollum v. Board Of Education, 333 U.S. 203 (1948). https://caselaw.findlaw.com/court/us-supreme-court/333/203.html

McKinney, Rodger (Aug. 25, 2022). “State Rep. Cheri Reisch criticized for 'unwarranted' claim that CPS students use litterboxes.” Columbia Daily Tribune. https://www.columbiatribune.com/story/news/politics/elections/local/2022/08/25/state-rep-cheri-reisch-criticized-for-unwarranted-claim-that-cps-columbia-students-use-litterboxes/7895082001/

McKinney, Rodger (Feb. 6, 2022). “State Rep. Cheri Reisch states 'Columbia sucks' when referring to public schools in education hearing” Columbia Daily Tribune. https://www.columbiatribune.com/story/news/education/2022/02/06/cheri-reisch-states-columbia-sucks-when-referring-to-cps-in-education-hearing-mo-leg-basye/6662719001/

Missouri House of Representatives. MO HB 2678. https://house.mo.gov/Bill.aspx?bill=HB2678&year=2024&code=R

Missouri Senate. MO SB 49. https://www.senate.mo.gov/23info/BTS_Web/Bill.aspx?SessionType=R&BillID=44407

Missouri Senate. MO SB 39. https://senate.mo.gov/23info/BTS_Web/Bill.aspx?SessionType=R&BillID=44496

Palma, Bethania. (January 30, 2023). “How Furries Got Swept Up in Anti-Trans 'Litter Box' Rumors.” Snopes. https://www.snopes.com/news/2023/01/30/how-furries-got-swept-up-in-anti-trans-litter-box-rumors/ Archived on March 30, 2023. https://web.archive.org/web/20230330232007/https://www.snopes.com/news/2023/01/30/how-furries-got-swept-up-in-anti-trans-litter-box-rumors/

Pew Research Center (Oct. 3, 2019). “Religion in the Public Schools.” https://www.pewresearch.org/religion/2019/10/03/religion-in-the-public-schools-2019-update/

Reuters Fact Check (October 18, 2022). “Fact Check-No evidence of schools accommodating ‘furries’ with litter boxes.” https://www.reuters.com/article/factcheck-furries-rogan-litterbox-idUSL1N31J1KT Archived February 13, 2023. https://web.archive.org/web/20230213110524/https://www.reuters.com/article/factcheck-furries-rogan-litterbox-idUSL1N31J1KT

Scribner, Orion, and N. Noel Sol (Feb. 9, 2024). “Will Oklahoma Call Animal Control on Students?” Otherkin News. https://otherkinnews.dreamwidth.org/92680.html Tinker v. Des Moines Independent Community School District, 393 U.S. 503 (1969). https://openjurist.org/393/us/503

[baerverteidiger]

Warning - What you are about to read may be offensive to you.

"The Truth"

In the United States, we live in a society that "promotes" pedophilia.

Why would I say this?

I live in the United States and have grown up watching television, movies, media, and more.

Most of the people on television and movies are young men and women in high school/college and/or they resemble someone of that age.

When we watch commercials and media, children are put into these advertisements to "entice" us to buy and/or eat their product.

When we watch the "new" Star Trek Movies... we ONLY see people that look to be fresh out of highschool or college (some of the actors look like they could still be in high school!)

To me... Every single place you look, every single person looks to be young, skinny, and child-like.

(My examination of media)

-----

Why would I say all this?

First... we have thousands and thousands of individuals in prisons and jails convicted of pedophilia.

We have TONS of people whom have sexual ideations for the youth and SOCIETY wonders, "Where did all of these pedophiles come from?"

In my honest opinion, I believe all this pedophilia comes from "Media."

----

If I was a straight man and had a wife, I would imagine that I would want a woman with large tits and wide hips.

Why?

Women are meant to have wide hips. Women have wide hips so they can give birth to children.

Women are also meant to have large tits. Women use their large tits to feed their child after giving birth.

We NEVER see women with wide hips and big tits on television ANYMORE!!

A classic example of this was in, "Star Trek: Voyager"

Seven of Nine used to be put into a TIGHT FITTING outfit that accentuated her big chest and her wide hips. Not only that, but much of the cast were all older individuals that DID NOT look like young adults.

Nowadays... EVERYBODY looks like YOUNG ADULTS whom are pre-pubescent! Even Star Trek actors all look FRESH OUT OF COLLEGE and glamourized!!!

What ever happened to glamourizing "ADULTS!"

To all those women whom COMPLAIN about women ALWAYS being sexualized... Wouldn't you rather ADULTS be sexualized and NOT children?!

We in the United States... DO NOT HAVE ADEQUATE MODELS FOR ADULTS ON TELEVISION!!

We do NOT see VOLUPTUOUS FULL FIGURED WOMEN ON TELEVISION AND MEDIA!!!

----

Society really wonders... "Why is pedophilia SO RAMPANT?"

The truth is RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOUR FACE!!

I am going to say this plain and simply... Hollywood, FCC, and the powers that be... ARE PROMOTING PEDOPHILIA!

I cannot tell you the last time I saw a FULL FIGURED woman that was voluptuous and sexually appealing on television... EVERYBODY LOOKS LIKE GODDAMN CHILDREN.

------

There are many examples in the "Animal Kingdom" that correlate to what I am saying.

Many animals STRIVE to mate with the largest and most beautiful male or female.

But... the example that I think of the most...

Humans are like flowers.

Flowers start off as a small seed, which geminates and starts to grow. As time goes on, flowers become BIG and BEAUTIFUL.

This analogy of flower to humans is THE EXACT SAME.

--------

Another major reason why I do NOT like our society living in this "pedophile society"....

We are making "under-developed" and "under-fed" people... OUR ROLE MODELS.

These role models are UNREALISTICALLY skinny! They do NOT eat ENOUGH FOOD to sustain a GROWING BODY!

I have heard conversations of adult women whom say, "I couldn't even eat a whole "Happy Meal" and look at how skinny I am!"

That bitch is being serious?! A "Happy Meal" is meant for CHILDREN! An adult woman will NOT even finish a meal for a CHILD?! This is NOT my type of ROLE MODEL!!

Don't you see what is WRONG WITH THIS PICTURE!!!

Everybody resembles high school kids and under-developed young girls.

And... Society wonders, "Why there are so many pedophiles around the world?"

----

Now... I am going to play "Devil's Advocate"...

Young girls start having periods around the age of 10-16. This fact alone MUST mean... that girls reach sexual maturity at the age of... 10 or 16, right?

WRONG!!

Girls still have to GROW and DEVELOP their mammory glands. They also need to grow to their physical potential to GIVE BIRTH.

-------

When I walk into a crowded room of people... I see young kids and scrawny puny little punks, whom think they are tough shit and everybody wants their genitals.

Society glamourizes these young adults...

I find it to be APPALLING that some meek and meager little runt is being "glorified" for being a dweeb with no muscle mass and looks like some pre-pubescent cunt.

--------

Like I said...

People will likely find this post offensive, but the fact is real...

Pedophilia runs rampant in society and around the world.

There are NO SEXUALLY STIMULATING FULL FIGURED MODELS, because we live in a "Pedophile Society."

----------

This post is NOT about hate. It is about EXPOSING pedophilia and EXPLAIN how our ROLE MODELS and MEDIA creates THESE MONSTERS whom kidnap little boys and girls WORLDWIDE!

Tumblr employees whom do NOT Blaze this are ENCROACHING ON MY FREEDOM OF SPEECH!!

[niniblack]

Cherik Fic

I've been looking through my old Cherik fic and found this in my drafts. It's complete enough to share, but not really worth posting on AO3. Set-during X-Men Apocalypse, a what-if Nina lived, but Magda didn't. What would Erik's next move be?

---

Charles senses Erik as soon as he turns onto the drive up to the school, and freezes, dropping the chalk he’s been writing on the board with.

“Professor?” one of the students asks.

“Um,” Charles says, trying to get over his shock. “Class dismissed. We’ll pick this up tomorrow.”

The children don’t argue, rushing out of the room as quickly as they can gather their things together. Charles weaves through them and makes his way towards the foyer. He gets outside just as the car Erik’s driving pulls to a stop in front of the fountain. (It’s old, with rusted wheel wells, a dented back door, and half of the front bumper missing. It’s the sort of car Erik had always turned his nose up at, during that road trip so many years ago, saying it was a crime to let a perfectly good car get to that state. Might as well melt it down for scrap at that point.)

Erik climbs out of the driver’s side and crosses his arms against the top of the car, looking over at Charles. “Hello Charles” he calls out.

“Hello, old friend.” It takes Charles a minute to tear his gaze away from Erik—he looks good, a bit scruffy and with a beard coming in, but then Erik always looks good. He’d come out of ten years trapped in an underground prison and he’d still looked good. There’s another person in the car, a child, and Charles doesn’t do more than brush against her mind. She’s tired and a bit scared, but awed at the size of the house.

Erik swings his car door shut and comes around to open the passenger door, saying something to the girl that Charles can’t hear. He takes her hand and leads her up the steps until they’re standing in front of Charles.

“Charles,” Erik says, “I’d like you to meet my daughter, Nina.”

Charles can’t help but stare. Of all the ways he’d ever thought about Erik coming here—and he’d thought of it frequently, at first, and less so as the years had gone on—he’d never considered this scenario. He swallows, and says, “Hello Nina.” He smiles at her, trying to look friendly and welcoming and not as surprised as he is. She looks to be about eight or nine, and doesn’t resemble Erik much at all. Perhaps she takes after whoever her mother is.

“Hello,” Nina says, voice quiet.

Erik lets go of her hand in favor of resting his hands on her shoulders. Nina leans back against him. “I told her you were a professor,” he says. “And that we’re old friends.”

Charles looks at Erik for a long moment before turning back down to Nina. “Your father and I have known each other for a long time now,” he says. “And this is a school.” He glances up at Erik again, but he’s as unreadable as ever. Charles doesn’t quite dare to try and read him with his telepathy. “Would you like to see it?” he asks. The question is aimed at Nina, but he feels like he’s really asking Erik.

He’s not sure why Erik has brought her here. And if he’s learned anything, it’s that being unsure of Erik’s motivations and plans never ends well for anyone involved.

It takes a moment, but Nina finally nods. “Papa said it’s for mutants.” Her English is heavily accented, something European. It’s different from Erik’s accent, but Charles can’t place it immediately.

“Show him what you can do,” Erik tells her, squeezing her shoulders encouragingly.

Nina points to the bushes along the edge of the porch. “There’s a rabbit over there.”

Charles turns to look, but of course the animal is hiding. “You can sense animals?”

“I talk to them,” Nina says. “She’s looking for food to take back to her burrow for her babies.”

Charles turns back to her. “Really? That’s extraordinary.” He’s never encountered a mutant who could speak with animals before. They’re immune to Charles’ own powers. He grins at her. “It’s totally rad.”

Nina looks confused by the slang, but smiles at the praise.

“Come along,” Charles says, turning his chair around and nodding towards Erik in thanks when he waves a hand at the door to swing it open. “I’ll show you around. We have lots of students your age, and I think you’ll enjoy the back lawn and the lake especially. We get lots of furry critters out there.”

Nina and Erik follow him inside as Charles keeps playing tour guide. He tries to treat it just like he would any parent who’d brought their child to visit, but the curiosity about what brought Erik here, now, won’t leave him alone.

- - -

Charles doesn't find out why Erik’s here until that evening. Erik’s been upstairs putting Nina to bed in the room Charles had found for them, and Charles isn't surprised in the slightest when he wanders downstairs to Charles’ study.

“This looks different,” Erik says, surveying the room. Charles has replaced the desk with one that's more comfortable to sit at in his wheelchair, and there’s more space between all the pieces of furniture, less clutter.

The chess set is still there though, and Erik gravitates towards it.

“Did you want to play?” Charles asks, stacking the papers he's been grading into a neat pile to deal with in the morning.

Erik’s answer is to sit down in front of the chess set and spin it around, offering Charles white.

Charles pours them both a brandy before joining him. Erik closes his eyes as he takes a sip, and Charles can't help but watch his throat work as he swallows. “You always did have the best alcohol,” Erik says.

“There are some things that one shouldn't skimp on,” Charles tells him.

Erik tilts his head a bit in acknowledgment, but doesn't quite smile. “Your turn,” he says.

Charles moves a pawn without really thinking about it. It's going to come back to bite him in the ass, but this game isn't really about winning or losing. Chess has always been more of a conduit for them, an excuse to spend time together, deep in conversation.

Erik’s quiet this time though, concentrating on the game, and Charles isn't sure what to say so he waits as patiently as he can. He finishes his drink before Erik has even drunk half of his.

Erik moves his rook, capturing one of Charles’ pawns, and says, “My wife died.”

Charles, who was about to take a sip of his second glass of brandy, nearly drops his glass in surprise. A wife… He should say something comforting, he thinks, but what comes out of his mouth is, “You had a wife?”

Erik nods, not looking up from the board. His mouth is set in a straight line, the non-expression he always uses when he’s trying not to acknowledge how much something is affecting him.

“I…” Charles starts, then closes his mouth, unsure how to proceed. “What happened?” he asks.

“Some coworkers saw me use my powers and figured out who I was.” Erik leans forward over the board for a moment, as though studying it closely, then sits back and looks up at Charles. “They shot her. With a wooden arrow, so I couldn't stop it.” His expression doesn't change, but his eyes do, welling up a bit before he blinks rapidly and looks away, raising his glass to take a long sip.

Charles feels like every response he thinks of is inadequate. What can he possibly say that won't sound like an empty platitude?

“I'm so sorry, my friend,” he finally says. He can't think of anything to add to it. He is sorry. Erik’s been through so much already, and it seems impossible to Charles that the universe could let anything else happen to him.

Erik meets his eyes again. “I killed the men who did it.” Charles doesn't say anything, so Erik adds, “I won't apologize for that.”

“I wouldn't ask you to,” Charles says. He glances back at the board, but can't summon up the desire to figure out his next move.

Erik takes a deep breath and blows it back out, not quite a sigh. “I need— Nina needs someplace she’ll be safe. If anything happens to me…”

“She’ll always be safe here,” Charles promises. “That's what this school is here for.”

“And when they come for your school?”

Charles doesn't ask who they are. “I won't let anything happen to the students here.” He catches Erik’s gaze again and says, “I can promise you that.”

Erik raises an eyebrow. “You can't promise anything, Charles,” he says. He raises his glass again, gulping down the rest of his drink and not quite slamming the glass down onto the table before he stands up. He leans forward, moving his queen. “Checkmate in three moves.”

Charles looks back at the board, startled, then back up as Erik steps away.

“I'm going to bed,” Erik says.

There's a long pause before Charles says, “Goodnight.”

Erik nods but doesn't turn back, leaving Charles alone in his study once again. Charles looks back at the chess board. Sure enough, Erik had led him into a trap. He raises his glass and takes a long drink.

REMEMBER HOW CUTE NINA WAS?! HOW DARE THEY KILL HER OFF!

[slayfics]

Explosive Tendencies a slow burn fanfic about the readers developing relationship with Katsuki Bakugo.

Chapter two: You talk to Katsuki about the Sports Festival.

Chapter links

More time had passed during your time in U.A. and The Sports Festival had finally concluded. It was exhausting and the school had the next two days off to rest.

You lay on your bed as you re-watched the televised version of the event from start to finish. As it concluded they announced Katsuki as the winner. Although he looked far from a winner. In fact, he looked like a prisoner with his arms chained and face muzzled.

Don't they think that was a bit much you thought?

You wondered how Katsuki was doing. Clearly, he wasn't happy about the result even though he won. You glanced at your phone debating texting him. Would anyone else check up on him, you wondered?

Probably Izuku, but if anything that would make him more pissed.

You agreed with the overall opinion that his anger was out of hand and reckless. But, was everyone else going to just dismiss him for that and not listen to what he was going through?

Sure it was dumb to be upset about winning but, if everyone just dismissed him instead of validating him from time to time... wouldn't he just fall even deeper into anger?

You understood what it was like to feel like no one listened to your perspective on things so you couldn't help but have empathy for Katsuki. Even though he did resemble a feral dog fighting back on the restraints.

You also couldn't help but wonder if being restrained like that was triggering for him. After all, it was only a few months ago that he was attacked by the sludge villain. The villain had restrained him in a similar manner to the muzzle and handcuffs used at the Sports Festival.

Fuck it, you gave in and grabbed your phone to message him.

Hey, how are you doing?

You sent and watched with bated breath to see if he would respond. To your surprise, he messaged you back almost as quickly as last time.

How the fuck do you think dumb ass?

You had become so used to Katsuki's vulgar tongue that it hardly made you bat an eye anymore. While the rest of your class still took it offensively, you just brushed it off.

I know that was a dumb question. I just wanted to check on you. Didn't think anyone else would.

I don't fucking need someone checking up on me.

You signed at his response and locked your phone, dropping it to your bed and deciding to leave it. Clearly, he was going to be too stubborn to even accept a listening ear. You started to putter around on your computer when about 10 minutes later your phone buzzed again.

You turned around to grab it, surprised to see it was another message from Katsuki.

Icy Hot is a fucking idiot, why wouldn't he want to show off what he can do in front of the pros? He ruined the festival for both of us.

You were surprised to see he actually began to open up slightly to you.

Want to come over and talk about it? I don't want to talk about anything. But, I'll come over. Since you're so eager to see me.

It didn't take long for you to hear explosions outside, followed by Katsuki coming through your window.

"You know it's daytime you could have come through the front door. I don't think anyone would mind a classmate coming over," You stated.

"Nah, I don't want to deal with all that bullshit." He said, sitting down on your bed making himself as comfortable as he would in his own room.

"I'm sorry about how things went down," You said, causing Katsuki to let out an irritated tch and look away from you.

As irritated as his demeanor indicated he was, the truth was no one had empathized with him. Everyone kept telling him y0U sTiLl w0n tH0uGh. Hearing someone agree with him threw him off, and he wasn't sure how to respond.

"Yeah, half and half is a fucking idiot. Thanks to him the pros don't know what I can really do," Katsuki said, looking back at you.

"Maybe, but if anything I think that reflects more on him than you," You responded.

"Hu?" Katsuki exclaimed, confused.

"Well think about it, if you were a pro hero scouting for talent, would you really be interested in a hero who had some reservations about using his full power? Or, would you be more interested in the hero that showed he's always ready to give it everything he's got," You explained.

Katsuki felt something weird in his stomach that he didn't understand.

"Whatever, you're thinking too much about it," He dismissed you.

"Yeah probably, but... I think you would have won regardless of what Todoroki did though," You spoke, causing Katsuki to look away from you again.

"Duh idiot, of course, I would have won," He said, but his voice didn't carry as much anger this time. The room was silent for a moment before Katsuki spoke again. "You know, you didn't do too bad yourself, the way you used your quirk surprised me. I could tell you trained a lot in order to make it so versatile."

"Wow," Your face flushed just the tiniest bit. "Did I really just get a compliment out of Katsuki Bakugo?" You teased, laughing away your blush.

"Oh shut up you damn nerd. Whatever, I got to go," He said, getting up and walking to your window. "I'll see you Monday," He said as he left.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Shout out to @yuichiroleftarm for the enlightenment of Katsuki being re-traumatized by the sludge villain when being restrained again at the Sports Festival .

Tags: @unofficialmuilover

[xenosagaepisodeone]

supersize me is incredible in how potently hateful it is. it's as if the pop culture wasteland of the 2000s suffocated spurlock's brain to the point where whatever synapses that hadn't shriveled up were only left capable of firing off the same demand to keep punching down at all costs that every halfwit with access to cable news and a desire to 'tell it how it is' seemed to have been afflicted with. everyone knows the methodology in this doc is bunk, but what's missing from the conversation is how this film is another artifact of antagonizing incurious dipshit libertarian smarming about how the sheepish masses cannot just simply get with the program and be better. "americans are fat fat fat fat so fucking fat and they love it so much that they'll let their kids eat the same slop that they serve in prison" "wait, back up. the same apparatus that provides elementary school lunches also supplies prison food? and you're saying the cost of healthier food isn't all that much more? is there anything here worth looking into further?" "no. but have this clip of this random guy talking about how we should heckle fat people like how we heckle smokers". what made this film notable for its time was how it was less focused on how being fat makes you look (which isn't to say that isn't still a huge component of it. because it is. and spurlock has endless shots of strangers with their faces blurred out to emphasize this), but the alleged deterioration of lifestyle, values and vitality that comes with the depletion of one's physical health. that is to say, the film is arguing that failing to live a regimented lifestyle causes one to fall into a state of moral decay. this is the buried lede, because ultimately this film is actually-actually about an alcoholic externalizing the complex he has towards his own lack of self control onto fat people.

it is no wonder why elementary school health teachers in the aughts were quick to deploy it in classrooms at the same rate they did photos of STIs in place of actual sex ed. the imagery of this greasy motherfucker throwing up in his car is meant to serve the same purpose in telling kids that this is what happens when they can't control themselves. when a corporation is blamed for something, it's only inasmuch as it enables people to be dumb and fat. spurlock points out how mcdonald's predatory advertising normalizes it's products in places it should not be (hospitals in particular), which you think would warrant further discussion- but in line with pushing responsibility onto the role of the individual, this is framed as merely mcdonalds tricking customers instead of actively encroaching on their way of life via invading media and legislature. no, the real villains are cafeteria lunch ladies, who are not instilling discipline in your children unlike National Weight Loss Hero Jared Fogle, who educates children around the world. one can only imagine that spurlock's libertarian values compel him to feel a sense of kinship.

the funniest part of this film was the one doctor who seemed to know that he was bullshitting about not having any drinking habits but doesn't want to be up front about confronting him. at first he comments on how how spurlock's liver resembles one belonging to someone engaged in long term alcohol abuse, and then later in the film he gives some generic lip service in response to spurlock's report like 'well, i wouldn't think that fast food and liver health are connected, but your report seems to indicate otherwise' before cutting straight to "whatever you're doing, stop pickling your liver". also at another point spurlock goes "lunch time" and there's a hard cut to some fat mcdonalds employees and he's trying so hard to evoke disgust with all of these shots but my response to these baddies is just "zamn looks like they got dinner and dessert too 🥵🥵💦💦💦💦💦💦💦"

but anyway

[hyperlexichypatia]

Tip: If you want to go to school online, pick classes (or ideally, entire courses of study) that were designed as a fully online distance learning program, not "the online version" of something designed as an in-person class.

Designed-as-online classes are generally more flexible and asynchronous, and, in my experience, the teachers are generally more understanding of realities like "Students have lives and jobs and other commitments besides this class." Instructions and assignments are more likely to be text-based than video-based. There might be one or two proctored exams at most. There will be some disclaimer on your syllabus that "An online class is not faster or easier than an in-person class," but that's a lie; a well-designed online class will absolutely be faster and easier than an in-person class, and if it's not, it's because the teachers and/or administrators felt the need to add a bunch of slow, mandatory videos to essentially pad the runtime.

I'm talking about college here, because that's what I have experience with, but my understanding from other people is that the same is true of k-12 schooling. When all schools went virtual for COVID in 2020, there was already a generation of cyberschooled adults who were pointing out that 8 hours a day in front of a computer, on camera, having your eye gaze tracked, is not how any of this is supposed to work.

[sunshinebingo]

@gwynrielweeksofficial Day 14 - Free Day

Aaand it's the end of Gwynriel Weeks 2024. Kudos to everyone who has managed this event ❤️. It was amazing to see all this love for my favourite ship and also to be able to participate in it. Thank you!! ❤️

Today's fic is a gift to @avabrynne (my little love letter to you is on Ao3 😉)

Synopsis: Catrin finds a baby in their backyard and tries to convince Azriel and Gwyn to keep it.

Word Count: 1.7k

Read on Ao3 or below the cut

≽^•⩊•^≼

Azriel’s head whipped around so fast his neck almost cracked. If he told his wife that, the only thing she would hear would be the cracking part and make a joke about him getting old.

“Daddy. I found an orphan.”

“What?”

He placed his knife on the kitchen countertop and looked towards the back door, to the little girl walking in with a few leaves in her pigtails and her lavender sweater balled up in her tiny arms. He removed the kitchen towel that was thrown over his left shoulder and wiped his hands before placing it down next to the knife and chopping board.

“I found an orphan in our garden.”

Azriel approached his daughter, mouth opening to ask what on earth she was talking about, when a little noise coming from the sweater made him stop. The little noise sounded a lot like it belonged to something with claws and fur. As if to confirm what it was, the little thing decided to poke its little head – after struggling for a few seconds– out of the sweater.

“Look daddy, look. She’s a baby,” Catrin exclaimed as though he wasn’t seeing the fluffy black kitten too.

The tiny creature looked around with bright yellow, almost gold, eyes. It seemed more curious than afraid despite being in the arms of an excited child. Cat beamed at the kitten in her arms. She jumped on the spot, causing the kitten’s head to move this way and that while its body remained trapped in its prison made of wool.

“Ok honey, calm down,” Azriel said and reached out his hands to take the kitten from his daughter’s arms before its head flew off.

Cat pointed at the door leading to their garden. “She was alone in that bush,” she explained, leaving Azriel to guess in which of the several bushes in their backyard she could be referring to.

Azriel held the sweater in the crook of his arm and extricated the kitten from it with his right hand. He handed the sweater back to Cat when he was done and took a closer look at the black ball of fur. It looked quite thin to him but showed no sign of injuries.

“How do you know it’s an orphan?”

“She told me,” Cat replied with a shrug.

The kitten meowed. Azriel had no idea whether it was to confirm or deny what Cat had said. He looked down at his daughter but decided against questioning her supposed ability to talk to animals.

“She?” he asked instead.

“The baby,” Cat pointed to the kitten that was busy trying to climb on Azriel’s shoulder.

He pulled the little thing away, removing its claws from his t-shirt when it tried to hold on, and turned it around.

“It’s a he.”

“He who?” Cat furrowed her brows.

“The baby,” Azriel explained as he brought the kitten closer to Cat’s face. “It’s a male.”

Cat giggled at the paw that reached out to boop her nose. There was dirt on her knees, on her bare feet and forearms. The blue jumper she wore was in a barely better state than the rest of her. Azriel smiled at her dishevelled state but sighed internally for the fact that he had thought of changing her clothes before letting her play outside. Gwyn would have been pissed if Cat had ruined yet another one of her school clothes.

“You’re my baby brother now,” Cat announced to the kitten while she petted its head.

Azriel laughed. “Hold up honey. What if his mommy comes back for him?”

Cat wrapped her arms around one of her father’s legs. “But he was alone,” she reminded Azriel, looking up at him with her big blue eyes and a pout on her lips. Not for the first time in 4 years, Azriel noticed Cat’s striking resemblance with Gwyn whenever she used the puppy eyes on him in a desperate attempt to get him to agree with something he had said no to. Apart from having her father’s black hair, everyone who knew Gwyn could see that Cat, on the outside, was a pretty good copy of her.

“Mommy can be his mommy too.”

Azriel’s eyes darted from his daughter to the kitten nipping at his finger with his sharp teeth. He knew that it was common for cats to adopt their humans instead of the opposite and this one did not seem to be an exception to this rule. The longer he took to reply, the tighter Cat wrapped her arms around his leg.

“Daddy pleeease.” She threw her head back and dragged the last word until Azriel sighed and stopped her with an, “Ok fine.” Cat gasped and looked at him with hope in her eyes.

Azriel hadn’t had a pet since he was a child. He had always been fond of cats. His daughter had also been asking for a pet for a while now – well, either that or a sibling. Azriel had been on Cat’s side the whole time in trying to convince Gwyn to agree to either of those. With the way this little thing here was purring and scratching at his shirt, he thought perhaps it was a trick of fate that had sent him here.

“OK listen. We will give him back to his mommy if she comes back,” he stated as firmly as he could to Cat as she gripped the fabric of his pants and nodded with a widening smile. “And we’ll have to ask your own mommy if she agrees with this.”

Her messy pigtails moved when she nodded again and started jumping. “If she says yes, then we can keep the baby,” Azriel added.

The squeal that Cat let out was so loud that even the kitten jumped in surprise. She released his legs and started running excitedly around the kitchen while waving her dirty sweater. Azriel lifted the kitten up to his face. “You still got time to run buddy.”

The little thing meowed, and tried again to climb on his shoulder.

ฅ^•⩊•^ฅ 

“Mommy, mommy. I found an orphan. Can we keep it mommy?”

Gwyn stopped at the threshold with one foot still outside. She didn’t have the time to put the other one in before her daughter was hugging her leg. It wasn’t the first time that Cat greeted her at door when she came back home. Though usually Gwyn was greeted with a “hi mommy” before the babbles started.

“Can we keep it mommy please?” Cat asked very loudly while jumping on the spot.

Gwyn placed her bag on the small bench near the front door. She picked Cat up and smooched her cheek. Her daughter smelled like the bubble-gum shower gel she liked so much. Judging by Cat’s clean matching yellow t-shirt and shorts, she guessed that her daughter must have had her bath not long before her arrival. Even her hair was styled in the twin French braids that Azriel was so skilled at doing now.

“Hello to you too, my darling.”

Cat wrapped her arms around Gwyn’s neck and returned her mother’s kiss with another one of her own.

“Now, what was it you were saying?” She asked as she walked them further inside the house.

Cat beamed at her and placed her hands on Gwyn’s cheeks. “Can we keep the little orphan, mommy?”

Gwyn’s brows furrowed. “What orphan?”

“The baby.”

“What baby?”

“The orphan,” Cat said like it should be obvious.

She had had many interesting conversations with her daughter before but this one felt particular strange.

“What on earth are you –”

Gwyn stopped abruptly when she reached the living area.

“Can we keep it mommy pleeease,” Cat kept going, shaking her mother’s face, while Gwyn took in what her eyes were seeing.

Azriel was lying down on his back, shirtless, on the carpet beside the coffee table, with a little black kitten on his chest. The kitten was hitting and biting the finger that Azriel kept waving at it.

“Hello, my love,” he greeted her but didn’t look away from the kitten. There was no doubt his smile was more for the little thing than for Gwyn. Azriel laughed every time the kitten missed his finger when he removed his hand faster than it could hit it.

“What is this?” Gwyn whispered to no one in particular. Her body was still frozen and her eyes glued on the scene before her.

“It’s a baby,” Cat replied.

The kitten attacked Azriel’s hand again, wrapping its tiny paws around his wrist and turned on itself but it only managed to slide off his chest and fall down clumsily on its back. Gwyn gasped and let out a shriek louder than when the enemies in the enemies-to-lovers book she was currently reading finally became lovers. She placed an equally excited Catrin on the ground before she ran towards a stunned Azriel. Gwyn sat on the floor beside him and picked up the kitten.

“Hi little baby,” she cooed while petting it. “Aren’t you the cutest little kitty.”

Cat reached her mother and leaned over her shoulder to watch. Azriel rose from the floor and stretched out his legs before filling Gwyn in on everything that she had missed before she came back. He rested his back against their grey couch and pulled Gwyn by the waist until she sat on one of his legs. Though his wife wasn’t paying him any attention, he still kissed her cheek and lips. It only took a second before Cat felt left out and moved to sit on his other one. The little girl brought her face close to Azriel’s until he kissed her on the cheek too. And another one on the tip of her nose where it always made her smile the most. Azriel wrapped his arms around them both and they all snuggled against him. Meanwhile the kitten between them was only interested in playing with whatever moved in front of its face.

“So, we are keeping it?” Azriel asked unnecessarily.

“Of course we are.”

The kitten stopped and stared at Catrin when she squealed from her mother’s answer. But then it went back to what it was doing, as though the little thing was already used to all this.

[weasleywomble]

Depleted

Summary: You live with grief for your best friend, and your husband feels that grief with you.

Pairing: Garreth Weasley x Reader (F)

Category: Angst

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: Aged up characters. Garreth and Reader are about 23 in this.

---

You could still remember the look in his eyes as he had given you once last glance. Eyes that now held nothing but distance, and regret but had once been vibrant and observant. He didn’t even resemble the young boy you had known. Once full of life and laughter, reduced to nothing but pain. Ashes of the person he had once been. You blamed the new fifth year. Up until they had shown up, he had been somewhat troubled, but happy, nonetheless. You’d begged him to not mess with dark magic, but he was headstrong, and you knew nothing you could have said would have stopped him. You’d been in love with Sebastian. Maybe he knew, maybe he didn’t. Either way, he was gone. He’d been given fifteen years in Azkaban for killing his uncle, only not getting a life sentence due to his age and immaturity.

The years following him being locked away, you had finished school and taken up a career in herbology. You found caring for the plants had kept your mind off of the thoughts of Sebastian. Thoughts of him rotting away in Azkaban as the dementors fed him his soul. Thoughts of what could have been had he not killed his uncle and been sent to prison. Would you have plucked up the courage to admit your feelings? Leading to either living a life with Sebastian or living with rejection. Or would you have kept your mouth shut and waited to see how life played out? All these thoughts had plagued you, spinning around in your head like an irritating tune you couldn’t shake. You often felt thankful when the honking daffodils would interrupt your inner monologue.

Or the sound of a potion exploding.

You took a deep breath, looking up at the moody sky above Hogsmeade. You had found some peace sitting in your quiet garden, but now you needed to go and see if your home now had a hole in the ceiling. You stood up, brushing stray pieces of grass off of your skirt before making your way into the cottage.

“What happened?” You queried as you were greeted by the sight of ginger curls as soon as you pushed open the door to the potion room. Well, at least he was in one piece.

“Nothing but a minor mishap.” Garreth responded, turning around and giving you a bright smile.

“Right…” He could sense your scepticism as you spoke, but he didn’t bother to try and argue his case. The room was splattered in what looked to be a thick yellow liquid. It coated the jars of potion ingredients of dripped off of the ceiling in multiple areas.

Garreth had been the one to pick up the pieces of you that Sebastian had scattered all of the floor. He had always been keen on you but had watched as you pined for the Slytherin who in his opinion, had been stupid to not realise what he had right in front of him. Garreth had always felt a pit of guilt inside of him at the slight spark of joy he had felt when he heard of Sebastian’s fate. He knew you had grieved for the friendship you had lost, so he had bided his time and helped you grow into the woman you had become today. Even after five years since you’d left school, seven years since Sebastian had gone, Garreth knew you still felt love and grief for Sebastian. He tried not to resent you, telling himself over and over that it wasn’t your fault that you missed Sebastian. But it was difficult. It pained him to see the distant look in your eyes when he made love to you, when your brain had time to drift off as your body experienced ecstasy. He could make a potion for pretty much anything he wanted. But he couldn’t make a potion to make you forget the pain of losing Sebastian. And that ate at his resolve daily.

He wiped his hands with a rag, cleaning off the potion that had coated his hands. His eyes studied you as you looked around the room. He took a breath and let out a soft sigh.

“It’s been seven years to the day.” He spoke, not bothering to give a reasoning to his words. He knew you’d know. Still, he watched you fake a confused look paired with a shrug.

“What has?” He nearly rolled his eyes at your fake cluelessness. He stepped closer to you, laying the rag down on his workstation. He took your hand, gently tugging you close to you. He used his other hand to gently run the knuckle on his pointer finger against your beautiful face. He could stare at you for hours and not tire of the sight. He gave you a small smile, laced with amusement and sympathy.

“You don’t have to hide your feelings from me. He was a big part of your life for five years, my love.” He spoke softly, his eyes trailing over your face. He cupped your face in his hand, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “I love you.” He hoped those words would perk you up even in the slightest.

“I love you too.” The words you had uttered back sounded hollow in Garreth’s ears and he felt his heart sink once more.

You did smile. A small, barely there smile that looked more like a pity smile. Garreth knew. He always had known. Despite Sebastian being locked away in prison, he was the one who held the key to your heart. And he’d taken it away with him. Your heart was rotting away with Sebastian. Sebastian's soul may be being sucked away in Azkaban, but Garreth's was being sucked away in his own home.

A/N: This is my first piece of writing for Hogwarts Legacy! I hope you enjoyed it! I do take requests.

[beingalive1]

Bibi And Her Blue-Eyed Baby ⎯ Pt. 1

Rosie Rosenthal x Oc [Batya Bernstein]

Summary: In an attempt to escape his office and the mutterings of the war occurring an ocean away, Rosie Rosenthal hails a cab and finds himself in a dingy jazz club in downtown New York. Never did he think he'd find himself hopelessly enchanted by the jazz singer with the curly hair and white fur coat but he here he is following her outside, his legs moving on their own accord. Maybe he would see her again? Maybe he would ask her for a dance? Maybe she'd write a song for him?

Part two: Here

Author's Note: I've been hooked line and sinker with all these MOTA men and have felt the need to join the fray and write my own fic so here it is - hope ya'll enjoy x

September 5th, 1941

The dull purple glow of the club made the red lipstick placed carefully on her lips shine as she crooned into the microphone.  Many blocks away from her silver spooned upper east side apartment she knew if anyone saw her stood upon that stage swaying her hips to the music, she would never escape the judgemental gazes of the Jewish community. Batya Bernstein, twenty-one, unmarried and swaying precariously in a tight little black dress as she sang through a haze of cigarette smoke. The vague taste of a vodka soda still remained on her tongue; the drink adding to the delightful haze of her evening. 

This was downtown New York – nobody knew who she was here. 

Walking on a tightrope between never ending shame and the thrill of anonymity, Batya continued her swan song. The warmth of admiration caressed her skin like a summers ray; here she was loved and cherished for the gifts she possessed. Here she was merely a woman with an enchanting voice, not the daughter of the famous jeweller Harvey Bernstein. 

Harvey Bernstein. The prized and beloved chairman of the Park Avenue synagogue. The famed owner of Bernstein Jewels. Her father. She often wondered how a man like him could have a daughter like her. It must’ve felt rather shameful. His lack of a son and his only daughter being what many in the community dubbed as ‘wild.’ The park-avenue princess had refused every proposal he had sent her way. The only reason she had not been completely dismissed within the community was due to her quick wit, the love the rabbi had for her and the fact that her father had been the one to finance the new children’s school adjacent to the synagogue. For all her faults he did love her so, his secret Shanda singer of a daughter. 

She could imagine her papa’s face if he caught here tonight: his already greying hair would surely turn completely white at the sight of many men enthusiastically clapping along to the tune of her passionate lyrics. Her songs of melancholy and sadness set to a happy tune subdued her silent feelings of shame. Here, she was not Batya rather Bibi: the jazz singer who would frequent this club every second Saturday Night. As soon as Shabbos had come and gone, she’d greet her beloved audience with a flutter of her fingers, sing for twenty -five minutes, polish off two vodka sodas and leave before she became too memorable. 

But this night was different. 

This night she was going to be remembered. 

He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. The way her lips graced the metal expanse of her microphone. How her hair began to fall out of its silken scarf prison as she sang, a rich brown curl falling in front of her face. It was if he was cast under a spell, the dulcet tones of her voice dragging him under the surface and into the smoken depths of her influence. He wasn’t meant to be here. His need to escape the overpowering mutterings of his office had caused him to lose all rational thought, call a cab, and to command the driver to take him to the best jazz club he knew. 

That’s how he ended up here.

Watching her.

He knew her from somewhere. Couldn’t tell if she resembled a girl on a war-bond poster or in a movie he had watched at some point but somehow and somewhere he had seen her before. The familiar shape of her nose, her deep brown eyes, the way she smiled as the audience applauded. He didn’t know what overcame him, a force coercing him to stand from the rickety chair at the back of the room and to follow her bewitching figure out of the club’s back door. A fur coat had been placed on her shoulders; the white material glistened in the evening moonlight. He rushed out towards her, his feet splashing against the puddled gravel of the club’s back alley. 

Her figure froze, her fur-draped shoulders tensing as she turned to face him. Her dark eyes almost glowed as she gazed upon him, a perfectly shaped eyebrow moving upwards as she took him in. His feet shifted from side to side, a nervous grin on his lips as he looked upon her. He was a never a nervous man. He had no idea why he was acting so strange; he blamed the scotch he had sipped as he watched her sing, and the empty stomach he possessed due to his rush here from work. She smirked at him. “Can I help you?” Her voice echoed through the darkened alley, the same rich tone gracing his ears as she spoke. He coughed awkwardly. A futile attempt to pull himself together with a rough hand combed through his curls does nothing to cool the slight burning of his ears. She watched the movement with a curious look upon her face: as if she was waiting for him to scare and run off like a deer in headlights. She looked amused. He coughed once more. He wasn’t the running type.

‘I..’ He began, silently cursing himself for stammering so foolishly. He was a lawyer. His mother’s pride and joy. His ma’s favourite topic over the Shabbos dinner table: boasting to her friends about how his eloquent way of speaking could convince any judge. Why he was struck silent in the presence of this woman he knew not, his lips dry as he tried to throw a sentence together. ‘I enjoyed your show.’ The eyebrow remained raised. A grin broke out upon her face, he didn’t think he had ever seen something so bright. 

Her gaze drank him in like a cool drink on a hot summer’s day. Heat flushing upon his ears as he waited for her to reply. Her mouth opened as she attempted to speak, her dark curls fluttering slightly in the breeze. He couldn’t hear what she had said in reply, the rich tone of her voice drowned out in favour of the sound of a yellow cab screeching to a halt on the pavement next to them. Her hands tightened across her coat; he spotted red nail polish painted carefully upon her fingers. It reminded him of her lipstick. Red suited her. She smiled once more, her body gliding past his own as she entered the back seat of the cab. His eyes followed her powerlessly, his hand itching to reach out and stop her. To touch her red-nailed fingers and ask for a dance.

His eyes remained on her until the cab drove away, the white coat dazzling through the rear end window of the vehicle. He never heard her reply, but he had an inkling he’d see her again. 

She refused to look back as she drove away. The urge to gaze upon him once more burned through her like an inferno as she sat comfortably on the cab’s black leather seats. His eyes had been so blue. A crystalline colour that made her skin flush when he stared at her, his full attention on her figure. She didn’t get his name, but Batya had a feeling she’d see him again.

And even if she didn’t all would not be lost. 

After all, ‘Bibi and her blue-eyed baby’ sounded like a perfect addition to her Saturday Night set list. 

Word count: 1231

Yiddish dictionary: • 'Shanda' - shame, can be used in reference to a person who makes their family feel shame • 'Shabbos' - the sabbath.

Author's Note part 2: Thank you for reading! I'm really excited to share this with you guys - been a while since I've written something so I hope you liked it, next part I think will be out in the next few days x [if you would like to be tagged in any future chapters - drop a note in the comments]

[avatarrecom]

Sorry that I hit you, I actually love you

Pairing: Poly!recoms x Avatar!reader

Word count: 6.5k

A/N: This is the longest I've ever written lol. This story is sort of a little gift to @whxre-bxby, because I absolutely love their writing and it inspired me to write this story. I also totally did not want to write an enemies to lovers because I wanted to use the tag #foes to bro's to hoes.

There's one reason you came to Pandora. Only one simple reason. To make the people responsible for your brother's death pay. All you have is his name, the name of the man who killed your brother by ordering his helicopter to be shot down. Miles Quaritch. You will break him and everyone he cares about. You don't know how, but you will. get. revenge.

Your brother, Timmy, may he rest in peace, was fourteen years older than you and raised you from the moment you took your first breath. Your parents were even more useless than water was useless to a dead plant. Day in and day out, they were more concerned with getting high than with the two children they forgot they had. When you were four, your brother managed to become your guardian. You moved into the shitty little apartment that was the only one he could afford. Your brother insisted that you get the only bedroom. “Little girls need their own room, Butterfly,” he said before turning the old sagging couch into something that would resemble a bed.

The next few years consisted of school for you, a nine to five job for your brother and evening classes on top of that. After six years, your brother had completed his mechanical engineering degree. Shortly afterwards he told you that he had been offered a military engineer and helicopter pilot position by the RDA. But, for this he would have to go to Pandora. He told you that if he did this he would go to Pandora, his salary would be sent to you and the RDA would get you a caregiver.

And so, when you were only ten years old, he pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose, and left for Pandora. He left you in the care of a wonderful old woman, Helen, who helped you follow your dream of becoming an Avatar Driver. But after less than half a year, you received news that your brother was dead. According to the RDA report, your brother betrayed his own race by helping his fellow pilot, Trudy, free prisoners and fight the RDA. You were devastated. Your only family was gone. The RDA tried to send you to an orphanage. But Helen refused to let you go. Finally, the RDA gave up and let you stay with her. You still followed your dream of becoming an Avatar driver.

Now, sixteen years after your brother's death, you have finally arrived on Pandora.

And oh man, was it a shock when you arrived and found out you were joining the squad of the man who killed your brother. You didn't expect it to be this easy. You were supposed to meet him and his squad in your Avatar body. By now you were used to being ten feet tall, having a tail and having better hearing, sight and smell.

After changing into cargo shorts and a sports bra, you make your way to the 'Recombinant' quarters. You will find your new squad in the gym, training. You immediately spot the person you are here for. Miles Quaritch. He lies on his back on a bench and pushes the heavy weights above him. A bald man stands by his head, hands ready to take over the weights if it gets too heavy. Your gaze shifts to the other blue bodies and everyone is focused on their exercises. You see a woman with corn braids and a headband curling a dumbbell while she talks to a woman with a mohawk who is doing push-ups. To your right, you see a man wearing a bandana sparring with a man covered in tattoos. In the corner of the room, three men are doing pull-ups on the bars hanging between the walls. And finally a man wearing sunglasses 'who the hell wears sunglasses indoors' is running on a treadmill.

No one notices you because of the loud music coming from the speakers, so you knock loudly on the door behind you. Several eyes shoot your way. You feel uncomfortable with all the attention on you. "And who might you be," purrs Quaritch with a nasty grin. “Y/N,” you answer, trying not to lose your temper. Nothing could have prepared you to come face to face with your brother's killer.

Quaritch's eyes widen in realization. "You're the new addition to the squad." You nod stiffly and clasp your hands behind your back. The bald man lets out a loud laugh. "Relax, beautiful, we don't bite." The woman with the dumbbell hits him on the head and says something about men and testosterone to the other woman, who laughs in response.

Quaritch walks towards you, his posture commanding respect and obedience. "Colonel Miles Quaritch," he holds out his hand, "Pleasure to have you." You force a bitter smile and shake his hand. “I wish I could say the same.” You see everyone looking at you in shock. You give them an icy look.

Quaritch's stupid grin only widens as he takes you in. "I see, you're one of those." “One of those what,” you snap. "It doesn't matter, we'll break that behavior out of you." He steps aside and you roll your eyes so he doesn't see it. “So Y/N, meet the squad,” He gestures to the others. "The bald one is my second, Corporal Lyle Wainfleet." Lyle and the two women look at you with an almost disgusted look. "The two ladies are Walker and Z-dog."

Quaritch gestured to the men sparring before your entrance, “That's Prager and Lopez.” Bandana looks at you suspiciously and the tattooed one looks at you with a feral grin that makes him look like one of those hyenas from the Lion King. “Brown, Ja and Fike are at the bars and that's Mansk,” Quaritch finishes. "Come on guys, meet our new victim."

Quaritch gestured to the men sparring before your entrance, “That's Prager and Lopez.” One looks suspiciously and the other looks at you with a feral grin that makes him look like one of those hyenas from the Lion King. “Brown, Ja and Fike are at the bars and that's Mansk,” Quaritch finishes. "Come on guys, meet our new victim." With that he walks out of the gym. You stare hatefully at his retreating back. When he's out of sight and you turn your attention back to the rest of your squad, you see them staring at you with equal hatred.

“So,” Lyle begins, “what the hell is your problem.” “That ain't your damn business,” you reply. Lyle grins at his friends. “Women shouldn't curse,” says the tattooed man with a shit-eating grin. You roll your eyes, “Get fucked.” He blinks in surprise, but doesn't answer. You turn your back to the group and walk out of the gym.

The next few weeks were absolute hell for you. You were trained as a medic in addition to your Avatar training. You had absolutely no experience in hand to hand combat and weapons. It didn't help that your squad took pleasure in seeing you suffer. Quaritch forced you to do five hundred push-ups every morning, to run for at least an hour, and many other exercises that completely exhausted you. In the afternoon the squad would take you around and kick your ass in hand-to-hand combat. After a few days you were already covered in bruises. You already had a bruised ankle and you had muscle pain in muscles you didn't even know existed.

And of course the favorite passage of time outside of training was to make your life miserable. You lost count of how many times they 'accidentally' slammed you into the wall, how many times they 'accidentally' stepped on your tail and 'accidentally' stepped on your ankles, especially your bruised ankle. They threw the most uncreative insults at you. You simply ignored them and continued to perfect your revenge plan.

About three months after you met and three months of absolute hell, you walked to the cafeteria in your 'human body'. You were so deep in thought that you didn't realize you were bumping into someone. To be specific, a ten foot tall and blue, someone. “Oh shit, sorry,” you heard someone say as a blue hand held your arm so you could regain your balance. You look up and see that Brown was holding your arm. He tilts his head and looks at you confused. "Have we met yet? You look familiar, beautiful." Your other tormentors watch you with interest, you shiver as they sweep their gazes over your body, and you don't shiver in a good way, the way that makes you feel the heat in your core. "Wait, I know you, you're the girl of my dreams!"

You jerk your arm from his grip and scoff, “that's funny, because this feels like my nightmare.” Immediately the eyes of the blue creatures in front of you darken. “Wait, Y/N?!” Walker says in surprise. You roll your eyes and nod. Everyone's eyes widen in shock. Just as you're about to walk away, you hear Lyle, "Y/N, wait." Normally you would have just kept walking, but something in his voice catches your attention. You sigh and turn back to the Recoms, who are studying you in shock. “What,” you snap.

"Timmy was your brother," Z-dog says breathlessly. You detect a slight tremor in her voice, but pay it no mind as the rage takes over your body. “Don't say his name,” you snarl between clenched teeth. “Don't you dare ever say his name,” everything you're feeling right now is the most intense you've ever felt. Your anger is mixed with grief and sadness. You don't even realize that tears are streaming down your face. "He is dead!" you shout, unable to keep your pent-up emotions in check. "And it's all your fault!" "What's going on here," you hear an angry voice command.

In your anger you turn to the colonel, who stops slightly in his steps, thrown off by the angry tears on your face. You vaguely hear someone in the background saying that Timmy was your brother. "DON'T SAY HIS NAME!" you roar. “HE IS DEAD, HE WAS MY ONLY FAMILY, THE ONLY ONE WHO CARED ABOUT ME AND HE IS DEAD BECAUSE OF YOU!” You break more and more with every word.

Before anyone can say anything else, you storm off. Luckily no one comes after you. After rushing into your room, you collapse against the wall, exhausted. You shouldn't have gone to the cafeteria in your human body. You should have stayed in your Avatar body, then they would never have realized who you really were. Shit, if you take revenge now, they'll immediately suspect you after your public emotional explosion in the hallway. You drop your head into your hands and sigh. Then you fall asleep on the floor, completely exhausted from the recent events.

When you wake up, you are determined to continue with your plan. It doesn't matter if they actually knew your brother personally, he was your brother and he's dead because of them.

You manage to avoid your squad for a few days. You skip the daily training and don't answer when one of them comes knocking on your door. That surprises you, you expected them to be happy to be rid of you temporarily. But then again, they probably have Quaritch's orders to convince you to act like nothing's wrong. They would probably be in trouble if the bigwigs found out that they were the ones who kept damaging your Avatar body.

After about a week you appeared back in the gym in your Avatar body. The Recoms look at you without the usual hatred in their eyes. “Y/N, how nice that you're joining us, not so nice that you're a week late,” Quaritch speaks and he too looks at you without the usual hatred. You roll your eyes, “Come on, who wants to go first,” you challenge, eager to let your energy out, preferably on something that could hurt the Recoms.

Brown steps forward. You wrap your hands and walk to the mat, Brown on your heels. When Quaritch gives the signal that you can start, you jump into action. You deliver several quick punches to Brown’s vulnerable spots. Normally he would have already blocked them and thrown you onto your back, pressing his weight on your throat with his knee. Normally he wouldn't remove his knee, even if, according to the rules, you tapped the mat three times because you couldn't breathe. Normally he would only remove his knee from your throat when you almost faint from the lack of oxygen.

But this time it's different. He lets you hit him, does the minimum to block you. This only makes you angry. "Come on, fight back!" you shout. He doesn't show that he heard you, he just keeps avoiding you and doesn't do anything to fight back. "Come on! Do something!" you shout again.

Your emotions completely overwhelm you, you don't understand anything anymore. At first they looked at you with hatred and did their best to make your life a living hell, which isn't that strange since you were a bitch. Then they find out who your brother was and suddenly they look at you with sadness and pity and they are reserved, as if they didn't want to torment you anymore. As if the fact that Timmy was your brother suddenly changed everything.

With every punch you get angrier and angrier. Suddenly you see red and you snap. You get so angry that you grab Brown by the base of his queue, pull him down and slam your knee into his face. You feel his nose break and you faintly hear Quaritch yelling in the background for you to stop. It's like you're underwater, everything is muffled and you can't stop. You hit harder and harder. Brown leans on his knees and tries to block you as much as possible while also trying to stop his bleeding nose.

You feel someone wrap their arms around your waist and pull you away from Brown. You continue to fight and struggle to get out of the grip on your waist. Ja is seen kneeling in front of Brown and taking off his t-shirt to gently press it against his nose, hoping to slow the bleeding. The person with his arms around your waist roughly throws you to the ground, you land wrongly on your newly healed ankle and fall to the ground. You hold your ankle with your jaw clenched.

“What the fuck do you think you're doing?!” Quaritch sneers. Before you can answer he continues, his voice louder with each word. "Stop your pathetic crying and get out of my sight!" You rub your cheeks and find that they are damp, you didn't even realize you were crying. You carefully stand up, careful not to put too much weight on your probably bruised ankle again. You look at the others and see that they are looking at you with anger and sadness. Just before you walk out the door you hear Quaritch coldly say, "If you know what's good for you, you won't come back until I say so." With one last look at the bleeding Brown, you walk out the door.

You stumble back to the Avatar's quarters and you sink onto your Avatar's bed and close your eyes. When you open your eyes again, you are lying in the link bed. The moment the bed opens, you quickly get up and forget about your bruised ankle. For the second time today your ankle collapses. The scientists look at you, but do nothing to help you. You manage to pull yourself up and limp out of the lab. Every scientist you walk past looks at you with disgust.

The nerds refuse to help you. After yet another injury, they gave up and left you to your fate. "Good," you think bitterly, "I don't need those know-it-alls, I can take care of myself." But deep down you know that's not true, right now you need your brother more than you ever needed him after he passed away.

You manage to avoid the busy hallways, limping to your room. The moment the door closes behind you you start screaming. You blindly grab the first object you feel, your favorite mug, and throw it across the room against the wall. Then you throw the next object, the book you were reading. You almost destroy your entire room and you keep screaming until your throat is so raw that no sound comes out. You don't even realize how much time has passed.

You grab another object and want to throw it against the wall when you see what it is. A photo frame with a photo of you and your brother. God, you seemed so happy then, together in your own little world. You hug the picture frame close to your chest and sink along the wall to the floor, crying. All the grief you have built up in you over the past few years is finally coming out.

It's already dark outside when your door opens. You start telling whoever it is to fuck off, but no sound comes out of your throat. You're so tired and in so much pain that you don't have the energy to do anything about the unwanted person who comes into your room. All you can do is stare blankly into space as the tears continue to flow.

You faintly hear footsteps in your room and out of the corner of your eye you see a large blue figure crouching on the floor next to you. You feel yourself being pulled into someone's blue arms, but you don't have the energy to protest, you barely have the energy to move your eyes. The blue arms gently lay you down on your bed. Through your blurred eyes you vaguely recognize Yes. Past him you'll see Walker and Mansk trying to salvage some of your destroyed room. Then Lopez walks in, pausing in shock when he sees the state of your room. His eyes land on Ja and your exhausted form. He approaches the two of you carefully and hands Ja a white box with a red cross.

You vaguely realize that Ja is putting ice on your ankle, that he is using an alcohol wipe to clean the wounds that you didn't even realize you had. He grabs a pair of tweezers and starts removing the pieces of glass from your wounds. You feel so numb that you don't even feel the pain. The mattress moves and you see Prager sit on the edge of your bed.

He waits until Ja has cleaned and bandaged your hands before handing you a steaming mug. "It's chamomile tea with honey. It's soothing and will help with your sore throat." When you don't respond and just stare blankly at him, he puts the mug on the nightstand next to your bed.

You don't react yet until you see Ja with a syringe in his hands. You start to struggle and try to scream, but only a rasp comes from your throat. "Hey, hey, calm down." Ja holds his hands up. You curl up on your bed in the corner of your room, wide-eyed, shaking and ignoring the blood through the bandages. “Hey, read the name of the drug,” Ja says calmly and holds the bottle out to you. You relax slightly when you see that it is a sedative.

Yes, he brings the syringe with the drug to your arm and if you don't protest, he pushes the needle into your arm and allows the drug to flow into your system. Your eyes become heavy and you fall into a dreamless sleep.

When you wake up again it is still dark outside. You roll your head to the side and see part of your squad, or it's probably your old squad by now, sitting in various places on the floor in your room. A painful, rough growl erupts from your throat as you feel blades shooting through your skull with the movement of your head. Immediately seven heads shoot towards your weak form.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" you hear Ja ask softly. You try to answer, but your throat is so dry that no words come out. Prager offers you the still steaming cup of tea, you sit up a little and take it gratefully. The first sip immediately soothes your sore throat. You look at Ja and say a soft "Okay." Ja sighs in relief and runs a tired hand through his hair.

"What time is it?" you ask softly. Prager looks at his watch, "zero three hundred." ‘Did I sleep that short?’ you think to yourself 'I feel like I've been hibernating.' Prager sees your questioning look and informs you that your training session and outburst was the day before yesterday and that you slept for over twenty-four hours. In the meantime, Ja has taken care of all your injuries, both your bruised ankle, which was completely swollen and blue because you didn't treat it right away and put too much strain on it during your outburst, and all the wounds from broken glass. Apparently you sat with your thigh in a pile of glass, which is how you got a large wound on your leg.

Z-dog, Walker, Mansk, Fike and Lopez cleaned up your room as much as possible and they even had to scrub blood from the floor, walls and furniture. They threw away all the broken items and even replaced some broken items. On the small counter you see your favorite mug, the one that was the first thing you broke. Lopez says that he and Fike did their best to glue it together as best they could, but it's not how it once was.

Apparently Prager didn't help clean up and just sat by your bed. He only got up to make you a new cup of chamomile tea with honey every time the tea started to get lukewarm, so that when you woke up you could immediately drink the warm tea if you wanted. According to Walker, he made dozens of cups of tea.

There is an awkward silence. “We have something to tell you,” Prager begins. The others move closer until they sit in a semicircle around your bed. You look at them questioningly and suspiciously. “We knew your brother,” Fike mutters under his breath. Lopez jabs him hard in the side and tells him to shut up. You try to sit upright as much as possible. "What?" you rasp.

Walker reaches out to you, as if to reassure you, but her hand stops in mid-air. Finally, she places her hand next to you on the bed, palm up, as if offering for you to take her hand if you want, if you need it. "It's true, we knew him," she says softly, "we knew him one day..." she trails off a bit and looks at the others uncertainly. “We knew him on a very, very personal level,” Ja continued.

You look at everyone in confusion. The Recoms see your confused look, but don't know how to respond. "We loved him," Ja said uncertainly. Your eyes start to water again, but you wipe them away roughly, you've cried enough. “What do you mean, you guys loved him,” you demand. Yes sigh, "we met him when he arrived on Pandora, he joined our squad as an engineer and Marine." You feel a pressure in your chest and you realize that you have replaced your brother in the squad.

"It didn't take long for us all to fall in love with him," Prager explains further and the others nod in agreement, "Miles, Lyle and Brown too." "He chose to go with Jake Sully to warn the Na'vi." Your emotions rise higher and higher, not only yours, also those of the Recoms. "We didn't know he was in the helicopter with Trudy, we really didn't know, otherwise Miles would never have given the order to shoot down the helicopter." You risk a look at the blue aliens and see the grief and sadness in their eyes and realize that they really loved him.

"Can you please leave me alone for a moment?" you whisper softly. The Recoms look at each other uncertainly, but decide to leave you alone. Mansk and Walker will stand outside your door so that in case you have another emotional breakdown, they will hear and they can help you.

As soon as you are alone, you start to cry softly again. And instead of having an emotional breakdown, you curl up in a ball on the corner of your bed and cry quietly so no one can hear. You are still so exhausted by all the emotions that you soon fall asleep again.

When you wake up again, you see that it is now daytime again. You stand up, careful not to step on your bruised ankle, and you hop to the sink. In the mirror you see that your eyes are red and swollen from crying. You also have a large cut on from the bottom of your jaw to the side of your nose, right under your eye. You look like complete shit.

You struggle out of your clothes and stop when you see all the wounds on your naked body. You didn't realize it was that serious. You carefully put on clean clothes. As you carefully hop out the door, you see Mansk and Walker still standing outside the door. They ignore all the confused looks from those passing by and focus their attention on you. They look at you with concern and mild concern.

"The colonel asked if we would take you to the Recom quarters when you were awake," Mansk informs, his voice, as always, devoid of emotion. You nod doubtfully and expect him to tell you that he is sending you back to earth. Mansk and Walker walk quickly in front of you, not realizing that you can't keep up with their bruised ankle and their long legs. Walker quickly realizes that you are a long way behind them and lightly hits Mansk on the arm, signaling that you cannot walk fast. The female Recom walks back to you to offer her support if you need it, while Mansk waits patiently for you to catch up.

The two slowly guide you to their living quarters. When you finally stagger into their living room, you see the rest of the squad sitting tensely in various places around the room. Your gaze shifts to Brown, who is lying on the couch with his swollen nose in bandages. You immediately feel guilty, you shouldn't have taken out your anger and all your other pent-up emotions on him.

You hear someone clear their throat and look up at Quaritch, who is staring at you intensely. You had never been in such a tense situation in your human body around the Recoms before, they only make you feel smaller. Quaritch sighs tiredly and gestures for you to sit on the couch, after a struggle and help from Walker you finally sit on the couch.

Quaritch sits across from you, resting his elbows on his knees. "What they told you is true," he begins, "we really loved your brother and we miss him every day. If I…" he trails off. "If I had known he was in that helicopter, I would never have given the order," he looks genuinely remorseful. “Here,” Lyle says, holding out a piece of photo to you. The photo shows the Recoms, in their deceased human bodies, and in the center, with Lyle's lips on his left cheek, Brown's on his right, and Lopez with his hyena grin hanging over his head, is your brother. He has the widest and happiest smile you have ever seen on his face. You don't know why, but suddenly you're sure he loved them, you believe the Recoms. Your brother was always an excellent judge of character and if he loved them too, as you see in the photo, you believe he was happy with them.

You give the photo back to Lyle and he offers you another photo. Another photo of your brother, this time he is sitting in the pilot seat of a helicopter with a toothy, silly grin. You smile sadly at the photo and hand it back to Lyle. He shakes his head, "keep the photo, we have several copies."

“We should never have treated you this way,” Quaritch says firmly. "We didn't know Timmy was your brother and I know it's not an excuse, but I'm sure we would have been different if we had known." You laugh softly and see the confused, slightly offended look in their eyes. "I was a bitch to you and besides, I came here planning to kill you all as revenge for what you did to my brother." You take in the shocked looks, slightly enjoying it. "I don't think I'll do it again, Timmy wouldn't want to."

“You know,” Lyle begins, “Your brother told us all about you, he loved you so much and he was so proud of you.” You smile sadly. "I know." "He also said he always called you butterfly, why was that?" Walker asks. "Our parents always called me an ugly duckling, so my brother started calling me butterfly, because a caterpillar blossoms into a beautiful butterfly." It was always your most favorite nickname anyone had ever given you. “And as a kid I was always hyper and he said I was always fluttering around like a butterfly.”

You suddenly frown and turn your attention to Brown. "I'm sorry, I should never have lost my temper to the extent that I hurt you." Brown looks at you in surprise. "Seriously?" he asks angrily and you recoil. "We have tormented you for weeks, months and you apologize to me?!" he asks incredulously. "And besides, I deserved it, I think we all deserve a broken nose, probably worse."

"Absolutely not, I don't want to deal with nine broken noses plus my own, we will pay for our actions in another way." Protested Yes. Brown pouts, "but if my nose heals wrong, at least I'm not the only one with an ugly, crooked nose." You smile and feel yourself relax slightly.

The following hours and then even weeks consist of exchanging stories about Timmy. Sometimes you laugh, like your story about his baking attempt for your eighth birthday that resulted in a cake literally exploding. And sometimes you cry, like their story about how he curled up next to them at movie night, just like you always did with him.

In addition, every Recoms continues to apologize every day. Ja personally sees to it that you heal completely, while he also has to listen to Brown's whining about his nose.

You slowly warm up to the Recoms, seeing and appreciating their efforts to earn your forgiveness. But after a few weeks you also start to feel things that you don't know how to feel. Every time Ja gently holds your chin in his hand to tend to the cut on your face, you feel his touch long after he lets you go. Every time Walker deliberately walks next to you to offer you support when you need it, you can't stop blushing.

It feels wrong, falling for your dead brother's lovers. It feels wrong, but also so good. You have decided to ignore your feelings, you have convinced yourself that they will go away on their own. But you didn't know that the Recoms feel the same way. Not because you are part of your brother, but because you are simply a wonderful person.

About five months after your breakdown, you and the squad are on a mission in the Hallelujah Mountains when you are suddenly attacked by several Thanators. You scatter in different directions, hoping to get rid of the Thanators with minimal casualties. You run with Prager and Z-dog through the thick jungle, fleeing from the two Thanators who are chasing you. The three of you don't have much luck when you stumble upon atop a waterfall on the edge of a high cliff.

You look around in panic, looking for a way out as the Thanators get closer and closer. "We have to jump!" Z-dog shouts. "WHAT?!" you shout back. "JUMP!" she shouts again as she grabs your hand and pulls you off the cliff. You scream all the way down to the lake at the bottom of the waterfall. Fortunately, the Thanators do not follow.

When you finally manage to get to the beach at the edge of the lake, you see Prager lying on his back in the sand, chest heaving. “Prager, are you okay?” you ask worriedly, slipping into the role of medic. Prager gives a tired thumbs up, "Let's never do that again." You hear sputtering behind you and see Z-dog walking onto the beach, her mohawk hanging wet in her face with a pissed off expression.

The two of you plop down on the sand next to Prager and let your clothes dry in the sun. After a while you hear sounds in the jungle, sounds that are getting closer. Prager and Z-dog are immediately in a crouching position. Prager pushes you behind him as he and Z-dog point their guns in the direction the sounds are coming from. "You don't think the Thanators found us, do you?" you ask nervously.

Then the rest of the squad bursts onto the mini beach. Quaritch sighs in relief when he sees the three of you. “Thank god, I thought something had happened to you guys when you didn't come back,” he studies you carefully, “why are you guys so wet?” Z-dog explains what happened and the rest look at you in shock. Quaritch walks over to you and gently takes your chin in his hands. "Are you OK?" he asks worriedly. You nod reassuringly. Quaritch sighs in relief and rests his forehead against yours.

“Thank god, I was worried about you my love,” you look up abruptly when you hear the nickname. Quaritch himself seems shocked at what he called you. You see the rest of the Recoms with the same look, until Fike breaks the silence, "why are we surprised, we all already knew we fell for her?" Lopez sighs in annoyance, "Yes, but she didn't know that."

"You guys fell for me?" you ask in shock. Quaritch rubs his neck uncomfortably. “Yes, we know it's weird because of your brother, but we can't help it.” "And the biology of the Na'vi is different, we can't control ourselves if we find someone attractive." Ja explains.

The following hours and then even weeks consist of exchanging stories about Timmy. Sometimes you laugh, like your story about his baking attempt for your eighth birthday that resulted in a cake literally exploding. And sometimes you cry, like their story about how he curled up next to them at movie night, just like you always did with him.

In addition, every Recoms continues to apologize every day. Ja personally sees to it that you heal completely, while he also has to listen to Brown's whining about his nose.

You slowly warm up to the Recoms, seeing and appreciating their efforts to earn your forgiveness. But after a few weeks you also start to feel things that you don't know how to feel. Every time Ja gently holds your chin in his hand to tend to the cut on your face, you feel his touch long after he lets you go. Every time Walker deliberately walks next to you to offer you support when you need it, you can't stop blushing.

It feels wrong, falling for your dead brother's lovers. It feels wrong, but also so good. You have decided to ignore your feelings, you have convinced yourself that they will go away on their own. But you didn't know that the Recoms feel the same way. Not because you are part of your brother, but because you are simply a wonderful person.

About five months after your collapse, you and the squad are on a mission in the Hallelujah Mountains when you are suddenly attacked by several Thanators. You scatter in different directions, hoping to get rid of the Thanators with minimal casualties. You run with Prager and Z-dog through the thick jungle, fleeing from the two Thanators who are chasing you. The three of you don't have much luck when you stumble upon atop a waterfall on the edge of a high cliff.

You look around in panic, looking for a way out as the Thanators get closer and closer. "We have to jump!" Z-dog shouts. "WHAT?!" you shout back. "TO JUMP!" she shouts again as she grabs your hand and pulls you off the cliff. You scream all the way down to the lake at the bottom of the waterfall. Fortunately, the Thanators do not follow.

When you finally manage to get to the beach at the edge of the lake, you see Prager lying on his back in the sand, chest heaving. “Prager, are you okay?” you ask worriedly, slipping into the role of medic. Prager gives a thumbs up, "Let's never do that again." You hear sputtering behind you and see Z-dog walking onto the beach, her mohawk hanging wet in her face with a pissed off expression.

The two of you plop down on the sand next to Prager and let your clothes dry in the sun. After a while you hear sounds in the jungle, sounds that are getting closer. Prager and Z-dog are immediately in a crouching position. Prager pushes you behind him as he and Z-dog point their guns in the direction the sounds are coming from. "You don't think the Thanators found us, do you?" you ask nervously.

Then the rest of the squad bursts onto the mini beach. Quaritch sighs in relief when he sees the three of you. “Thank god, I thought something had happened to you guys when you didn't come back,” he studies you carefully, “why are you guys so wet?” Z-dog explains what happened and the rest look at you in shock. Quaritch walks over to you and gently takes your chin in his hands. "Are you OK?" he asks worriedly. You nod reassuringly. Quaritch sighs in relief and rests his forehead against yours.

“Thank god, I was worried about you my love,” you look up abruptly when you hear the nickname. Quaritch himself seems shocked at what he called you. You see the rest of the Recoms with the same look, until Fike breaks the silence, "why are we surprised, we all already knew we fell for her?" Lopez sighs in annoyance, "Yes, but she didn't know that."

"You guys fell for me?" you ask in shock. Quaritch rubs his neck uncomfortably. “Yes, we know it's weird because of your brother, but we can't help it.” "And the biology of the Na'vi is different, we can't control ourselves if we find someone attractive." Ja explains.

Their eyes slide over your body with interest as they see how your body reacts to their confession. And this time, when you feel yourself shivering, you also feel the heat pooling in your core.